


I Should Live in Salt

by sazoirl



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, F/M, One Night Stands, Porn With Plot, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Spoilers, Turn into 4 or 5 night stands, just a name change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:03:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 26,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5868724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sazoirl/pseuds/sazoirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They call her the Barbarian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Solidarity

**Author's Note:**

> My sole survivor was based on my absolute favorite comic book character, Barda Free, or Big Barda of Jack Kirby's New Gods (DC). The sole in this story shares her name. If you are unfamiliar with her you're really missing out. Her personality is a little more subdued to fit in more with the verse. In order to connect more with her I always replace Nate with Scott in my head, as that is Barda's husband canonically. Scott Free. Yes, yes, it's intentional and they are the otp of otps. So for the purposes of my story, Scott is Nate. And I do use Grognak's axe 96% of the time huehueuhe

                                                                 

 

The Commonwealth. The air smelled of the same sick even here on the heights of the magnificent Prydwen. Of the vile green skins, ghouls, and abominations. Synths. He's on the flight deck and Elder Maxson realized that his thoughts were causing his knuckles to go white for the tightness of his grip on the rails.

That's why they were here; to cleanse the Commonwealth that had gone unchecked for too long. To protect the people from themselves and the technology that brought the scourge of the bombs and destroyed an ignorant world. Yes, that was why the Brotherhood of Steel was here. Him? Elder Maxson was here to do nothing but to fulfill his birthright. His destiny.

Paladin Danse and his team were to report with the arrival of the behemoth airship and the fierce young Elder wanted to get them debriefed as soon as possible and get starting cleaning up the Commonwealth one monster at a time. He didn't wait for the arrival of the Vertibird to go with powerful, confident strides back to the Command Deck. His Command Deck.

The heavy footfalls accented with the hiss of hydraulics heralded the Paladin's arrival. Behind him, the protege he'd read reports about that, particularly for Paladin Danse, contained more colorful adjectives praising her than were necessary in an official report. Maxson had to admit he was curious what all the fuss was about.

The first thing he noticed was the absolute disarray of her armor. Disgraceful. Mismatched pieces of leather and metal caked in rust and dried blood over a blue jumpsuit that---

A Vault suit? He had missed that in the report, if it had ever been mentioned at all.

The second thing he noticed were how her eyes matched the suit. Like glimpses of oceans from centuries ago that people, like he, only could imagine. Like his. She was pale, skin untouched by the harsh radiation and sun of the desolate world for so long. She had a scar that split the right side of her upper lip about two inches long. As if she knew he was taking stock of it, she absent-mindedly whetted her lips, tongue lingering at the white angry line. Her hair was like his too, dark and thick. Unlike his, however, hers fell in a long curtain just past her shoulders. It looked soft.

Maxson had to clear his throat.

He'd prepared an evening address which he delivered with impeccable rhetoric. Not all rhetoric, of course, as he firmly believed every word that he uttered. He didn't see how intently she watched him until the last sentence or two. Steeling himself, he ended his speech without falter.

Once he'd concluded he looked the pair over before barking out a gruff greeting, though not unkind. His team had done what they could under the circumstances. And he had read what his recruit had done for the Brotherhood, retrieving the holotags of a team lost to them and returning Paladin Brandis to their ranks. There was a hint of a smile or, at least, the absence of a frown as he bestowed Paladin Danse's recruit with a new title. Knight.

Maxson didn't expect that she would hold herself like a soldier. He commanded her attention as he commanded it in all his subordinates entrusted to his care. Now it occurred to him how tall she was. Six feet at least by his estimation. Not a waif, certainly, judging by the muscles hugged by her form-fitting Vault suit. He tried to push the other parts of her the suit hugged out of his mind. If she was as good as Danse proclaimed, she could make an imposing Paladin one day.

"Knight Free, I'd like you to get acquainted with the Prydwen and meet her officers." Barda. Not a name he could profess to have heard before. "Become familiar with the routine and protocol here. You'll be shown to your barracks."

"Yes, Elder," she responded and her hand twitched as though she were going to...salute him? Knight Free's lips quirked at the corners as she stopped herself. An old habit? Turning on her heel to follow through with his order Maxson spoke before she could pass the threshold of the Command Deck.

"And Knight?"

She looked back over her shoulder at him, excitement in those ocean eyes.

"Welcome aboard."

 

* * *

She had to admit it, the Prydwen was impressive. It was likely it was more impressive to the general people of the Commonwealth; the ones who hadn't lived before the bombs and flown in planes so frequently it was like going to purchase one's morning coffee. But for everything that Barda had witnessed up until this point, she was impressed. Hopeful, too. If they Brotherhood of Steel could launch a mighty zeppelin then surely they could help her find her son.

The most startling part of the experience thus far was how it reminded her of her old life. The Brotherhood, she was told, rose from the ashes of the military that she and he husband had served in so many centuries ago. Her father had been a major, her mother an army medic. And Scott--he was in it as well. He'd worried so much when she became pregnant and he was once again at the eve of deployment. Barda had insisted that she could take care of herself. She'd even proved it by besting him in a match of arm wrestling, best 7 out of 13. They'd laughed and laughed and made glorious love throughout the night before he departed the next morning.

She glanced at the ring that still graced her left hand and felt a pang of regret, of anger.

Barda had joined the military as well. She had been a formidable attorney in the courtroom, winning more than a few high-profile cases. In translated well into military law and tactical planning. It seemed to insignificant now but there was no doubt her experience had saved her life more than once out in the wasteland. Danse had even complimented her ingenuity on the field once or twice. She would be a fine addition to the Brotherhood, he'd said.

It was an opinion that he reminded her of while they flew to the Prydwen as she happily used the minigun aboard to pick off raiders and ferals alike.

Paladin Danse had told her about the Elder briefly en route in the Vertibird but she hadn't expected him to be so young. Save for the precisely groomed beard and jagged scar that accented his chiseled features he did not look a day past twenty. That and the presence he seemed to wordlessly command. There was an undeniable magnetism to the not-so-old Elder and, well, Barda could barely keep her eyes off of him. She listened to his address with the kind of respect she could tell he commanded. Making a good first impression would be essential to using the Brotherhood of Steel to help her in her quest for closure.

As Elder Maxson spoke Barda found herself watching him more than she was listening to him. The fur-lined leather coat he wore only added to the broadness of his shoulders and he stood as a leader would--feet apart and firm to project that he could not be intimidated or swayed from his post and his mission. She had to admire it. His eyes were blue too she noticed. Different from hers--more cold like steel than the warm cobalt of ages gone that lingered in hers. Pretty though. Certainly striking when combined with his neatly groomed dark hair, his beard. Even his hooked nose only added to the power he radiated.

By the time his address ended she had concluded that Elder Maxson was nothing like her husband had been. She found herself comparing others to the one great love of her life often. Scott was warm and could be so charming and silly even though he took his job very seriously. Barda ignored the sting in her eyes and concluded from her few minutes listening to the Elder that he likely never took off his boots or cracked a joke in his life. In fact it wouldn't surprise her if his idea of fun was tossing back three fingers or whiskey and compiling mission reports.

It was good that she was not here for fun.

Honestly, she hadn't expected to be promoted to a Knight. Knight Free. It had a certain ring to it. She tilted her head slightly at Maxson and even smiled. One step closer to her baby.

* * *

 

The Prydwen was buzzing with activity following the success of the mission to clear Fort Strong of hideous mutants and secure ammunition. Elder Maxson heard the rumblings as he strode down the length of the flight deck to observe the arrival of Paladin Danse's team. Judging by the pleased expression on the face of one of his best Knights there had been no casualties. Reaching back to assist Knight Free off the Vertibird, Maxson took a half-step backwards at the sight of her. He wasn't the only one on the flight deck that appeared concerned either.

A little blood was normal. A day in the life of a soldier in the midst of war, after all.

But Knight Free was more red than she was anything else and judging by her too-white smile, almost none of it was hers.

His heart skipped a beat. Or perhaps Arthur had imagined it.

The Elder returned to the command deck to await their entrance and report. Five minutes later when the heavy metal door swung open it was accompanied by enthusiastic cheering of his brothers and sisters. Like good soldiers they reported to him immediately.

"Our mission was successful, Elder Maxson," Danse practically beamed. "I'll have my full report to you by 0700."

"See that it is," he nodded, speaking with his usual tone. Stern, but pleased. "Knight Free, explain your condition." Maxson looked her over again; smears of still wet blood covered her face and had seeped into her armor and jumpsuit. It coated the great axe strapped to her back and her hands up to her elbows. Droplets peppered his command deck floor. He half expected her to present him with a severed super mutant head.

"Only minor injuries to report, Elder, sir." A gash on her arm where a super mutant had gotten closer that she would have liked before she could fell him, a single gunshot wound to her shoulder. Scrapes and bruises a plenty but nothing that would explain why it appeared that she had taken a dip in a pool of viscera.

Maxson paused, somewhat perplexed by her distinct lack of an answer. Clearly she was a hands-on type of soldier and was nonplussed by the disgusting exterminations they carried out. Necessary, yes, but it could be done cleanly with a laser weapon, a rifle. Yet she chose an axe.

"Very well," was all he bothered to say. "Get Knight Captain Cade to look you over when you are dismissed. You and your team," Maxson nodded to Paladin Danse, "have earned proper showers."

Knight Free would not be allowed to go without.

"Dismissed. Paladin, a word."

Barda disappeared down the ladder to the main deck and Elder Maxson's eyes followed her as she went, speaking only when he was certain she was well on her way to the med-bay and out of earshot.

"What is it Elder?" Danse offered.

"Knight Free. Has she violated our strict protocol against the usage of illicit drugs?" His voice was tense, a bow string about to snap. He looked at Paladin Danse with eyes so cold with anger they could very well be the last thing Danse saw before his demise.

"No sir." Danse answered almost too quickly.

"Because her behavior is indicative of the use of an excessive amount of Psycho," Maxson's words sliced through the thickness of the atmosphere in the room. "I hope for your sake you are telling the truth, Paladin, and not protecting your initiate from reprimand."

The Paladin seemed to balk before responding.

"Elder, Knight Free has not used unnatural enhancements to my knowledge. She--she just genuinely seems to enjoy battle. More than most, definitely, and while it may look like Psycho..." Danse's voice trailed off.

"Speak." Maxson barked.

"She completed her duty and she saved lives of our brothers and sisters." Danse's expression exhibited only honesty and perhaps even admiration. "No drugs necessary."

"I want you to include a detailed account of her behavior in your mission report. And if I see your Knight like that again, I will order Cade to give her a full psychological evaluation," the Elder spat. "Dismissed."

And once Danse was gone, he ordered a passing Scribe to fetch him Knight Free's file.

He had some reading to catch up on.


	2. These Foolish Things

Knight Captain Cade had given her the same look the Elder Maxson had which surprised her considering she had doubted that it could be replicated. He grumbled about not being able to determine what was hers and what wasn't as he patched her bullet wound and administered a Stimpak before shooing her off to the barracks.

Showers were a luxury in the Commonwealth and the Prydwen's privy was equipped with a handful. Granted the pressure and temperatures were wildly unpredictable and when Barda stripped off her grimy armor and jumpsuit the coolness of the spray made her shiver. Keeping her injured shoulder out of the stream was a hassle, but not impossible. Wincing at the sting at the scrapes and cuts she slowly began to wash away the badges of battle. The water that drained at her feet was pink but as she scrubbed and scrubbed with a bar of regulation unscented soap it ran clear.

Elder Maxson had looked at her in what she could only gauge was shock for him. Shock, disapproval, and anger. She'd completed her mission spectacularly had she not? Barda soaped and rinsed her hair to remove the dried blood there, remembering how she'd cleaved right into the thick, stupid neck of the last super mutant at Fort Strong with her axe causing its foul ichor to cover her as it collapsed and writhed until dead. It had just told her she hit like a Radroach. Funny.

He should have praised her for her good work! Her zeal to complete his mission! Bastard.

Now perturbed herself, Barda shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. The address Maxson had given two nights ago was one of inspiring hope and extreme prejudice. How could he be upset that she had acted with the same extreme prejudice? She wrapped a dull but clean towel around herself, paying no mind to the two or three soldiers that trickled in for their own showers. It was co-ed, but no one seemed to pay any mind to the flashes of breasts and rear ends. Among other things.

Duty before pleasure.

They came up with a nickname for her in the mess hall: Barda the Barbarian. Her arrival at the Prydwen, her use of an axe; it all made sense they said. She was just like Grognak. It made her laugh; perhaps it was true. When bullets rained and lasers singed her hair all she could see was Kellogg shooting her Scott and stealing her son lighting her rage and sorrow alight. The rage had a tendency to be the more dominant of the two emotions.

After an hour or three of rousing drinking whiskey and re-telling of the mission to eager listeners, the day finally caught up to her in the form of aches and stiffness and tender bruises. Barda clasped Danse on the shoulder and bid him goodnight. The Prydwen was growing quiet as the night grew late and she found herself more appreciative of anything else in her life when she slipped under the light blanket and laid down on a clean but firm mattress. A contented sigh and she was ready to welcome a good night's rest.

And hour later, she lay listening to the sound of snoring to her left and gentle breaths of sleep to her right. Sleep did not come. Anxiety clutched her gut as she ached as she had with longing for her baby the moment she had stepped from her cryogenic chamber in Vault 111.

No sleep, then.

Rising and hastily pulling on a Brotherhood uniform, she made her way down the main deck of the Prydwen as quietly as her boots would allow towards the power armor stations. At her hip, her weapon of choice. Not a gun. An axe.

Turning on her Pip-boy and popping in a holotape, Barda went to work sharpening and cleaning her weapon so that come next mission there would again be no question if she would cleave through the limbs of super mutants in a fell swoop.

 _A cigarette that bears a lipstick's traces_  
_An airline ticket to romantic places_  
_And still my heart has wings_  
_These foolish things remind me of you_

The holotape played and she hummed along as she worked away the jitters. An old song, but a good song. It made her think of Scott and that put her somewhere right between the warmth of happy memories and the crushing sadness of his death. Her bed had been cold for about a thousand too many nights, it felt.

Barda had long thrown her hair into a bun on top of her head to combat the rise in body temperature her work was causing. Her Brotherhood jumpsuit had been stripped to her waist, sleeves knotted together leaving the air to cool her skin. The white tank-top she wore underneath was growing damp with sweat in places. Her shower earlier almost seemed a waste.

 _A tinkling piano in the next apartment_  
_Those stumbling words that told you what my heart meant_  
_A fairground's painted swings_  
_These foolish thing remind me of you_

"An interesting choice, Knight Free."

Barda immediately stiffened at the low bass voice behind her before she found the sense of mind to turn and respond. She'd almost forgotten her earlier anger at her superior officer.

"What is, Elder Maxson?"

He was a few feet away, still clad in his black Brotherhood uniform and battle coat. The man probably never slept; it was well past midnight.

"The axe," he gestured one gloved had at her weapon sitting on the workbench. Blue eyes darted to the metal, then to her and back again. "Sound tends to travel on this ship," he explained his presence vaguely. Maxson didn't meet her eyes again for four, five counts.

_You came, you saw, you conquered me_   
_When you did that to me_   
_I knew somehow this had to be_

"May I?" he took a few steps towards her before gripping the hilt of her axe and lifting it to test the weight.

"Of course, Elder Maxson," Barda's hands were on her hips watching as he took an experimental swing at some imaginary foe. The subtle perplexity in the corner of his frown and in his dark brows was not lost on her.

"Why don't I use guns? They're cleaner? Less reckless?"

She seemed to snap him out of his thoughts, pulling the questions from his mouth and saying them for him. Maxson turned his attention to the Knight; now that they were closer he noticed they were truly about the same height. He was perhaps only an inch or two taller than she. It made it difficult not to look her in the eyes so he focused on the space between her brows.

 _The winds of march that make my heart a dancer_  
_A telephone that rings but who's to answer?_  
_Oh, how the ghost of you clings_  
_These foolish things remind me of you_

"Guns are impersonal," she commented as she quickly ejected the holotape. The song brought to mind her husband and she was not ready to betray professionalism. Not to her Elder. "My mission is personal." With every severing of a feral's head from it's body, with every splash of blood that painted her boots Barda was a victor. This new world would not conqueror her unless she allowed it to. She decided that the moment she'd met her first set of raiders and one had split her lip with knuckle dusters. A rage had boiled over within her and she provided him with a proper recompense: slitting his throat and watching him gurge his last wet breaths against the concrete. Her tongue darted out to trace the scar.

No one was going to stop her. No one was going to get between her and her goal. Her son.

"Your mission?" Maxson took another swing at the air. He looked quite nice doing so. "Your mission is with the Brotherhood," he warned. "Or have you forgotten your oath already, Knight?"

He did not particularly like the way she was looking at him now. Defiant, jaw forward and tense. Her eyes suddenly were less warm that they had been the day before on his Command Deck and he met them with an equally steely gaze.

"I will serve the Brotherhood loyally, Elder," Barda annunciated her words sharply. "But finding my baby is my primary goal. I will breach the Institute and if they are indeed responsible," she paused before her eyes held his in what felt like a vise. Maxson could not bring himself to look away. "Then I will make them pay."

The conviction with which she spoke sent a chill down Arthur's spine. It was electric. Replacing her axe on the workbench, Maxson stepped a fraction closer. She could smell him now. Leather and oil. A hint of whiskey. Soap, unscented save for cleanliness.

"As long as your mission does not interfere with the Brotherhood and my commands," she was watching his mouth. "You will complete it. That is my promise." He paused, looking her over subtly and trying to ignore the curves that her Vault suit had cradled so well.

"Did you hear about the nickname I've been given?" Barda turned to continue her work on the axe, testing the sharpness of the blade with her thumb. It sliced cleanly and she didn't flinch when blood wept from the cut. Maxson watched entranced as she licked it away and could not stop himself from lamenting he hadn't been the one to do so.

Completely improper.

"I have not," he indulged her as he leaned against the workbench next to her own.

"Barda the Barbarian," she answered coolly. With pride. "Just like those old comic books. Do you find it fitting, Elder?"

"Arthur, or just Maxson will do," he immediately hated himself for saying it. "We are off-duty."

"Do you find it fitting, _Maxson_?" She corrected her question, not bothering to point out that he'd called her by her rank several times already.

"What I have read in your file and what I saw today seem entirely contradictory," he almost uttered her name himself. "As such I cannot answer your question yet."

"Contradictory?" Barda quirked a brow and slipped him the slightest mischievous glance.

"The data recovered from Vault-Tec indicated that you were a housewife. A veteran, but a housewife nonetheless." Arthur watched her hands as she diligently polished the blade. "I've never heard of a housewife reveling being covered in the blood of her enemies."

"Not unless it matches her manicure," she quipped back. A tiny glimmer caught his eye on her hand---a wedding ring. Diamonds. How had a raider not sliced off that pretty finger for a prize yet? She probably never gave them a chance. He frowned and silence fell between them.

"Maxson," he subtly shuddered at the way she said his name this time. He hoped she hadn't noticed. "You are not old enough for the wrinkles that come with that frown."

"When the weight of leadership is on one's shoulders, age is inconsequential." A pause. "You should get some rest."

"I was asleep for two hundred years," she replied as she brushed a strand of hair that had sprung free of her bun out of her face. "You read the file. What's not in it is this: my husband was murdered and my baby stolen. All I could do was watch." Barda picked up her axe and tested it with a light swing just as Maxson had.

The way she looked at him then made him forget to breathe. With a tilt of her head she pronounced her promise to him without flinch or uncertainty:

"I will never feel helpless again."

In that moment her perhaps understood more what he perceived as madness. She exuded raw power and determination and Arthur had no doubt that she would succeed. She reminded him of someone.

Himself.

"Good night, Free." He defaulted to her last name as he pushed himself from the workbench, smoothing his hair idly with one hand. "Others of us have no backlog of rest on which to rely. Report to me for your orders at 0800."

"Yes, sir. Good night," she paused as if considering something important. He watched, waited. Barda shifted towards him and leaned in with only a few hands widths between their faces. "Arthur, sir. " And she went back to work, humming that song once more.

It was all he could do not to replay the sound of his name on her lips while he waited for sleep to take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: https://youtu.be/wS_NpTClXhA


	3. Conversations, Rough House

She'd gone to the Glowing Sea.

It was over a week before she and Paladin Danse returned to the Prydwen sick with radiation but with a lead on how to get into the Institute. Killing a Courser. A goddamn Courser.

She wanted to train, she'd said. It had been that long already, she'd said when she requested the mission be delayed until she felt ready. Barda wanted to make certain that when she faced that monstrous synth that she would be victorious. As much as the wanted to charge in and rip out it's mechanical heart she knew she needed a plan and she needed to be physically at her peak.

Maxson had to admit that he found a new side of her to admire: the tactician. And to know that her sense of self was not inflated to presume she could handle it alone and unprepared was comforting.

When she entered the mess hall she was looking less irradiated and more like herself, standing tall and confident and exactly fitting of her title of Knight. Maxson reclined at a corner table watching over his troops like a sentinel as he took calculated bites of his brahmin steak and sipped on a Gwinnett stout.

Their eyes met.

She'd heard people about the Prydwen talk, both facts and rumors about him. He was practically the crown prince of the Brotherhood of Steel. At least he wore it well with seriousness and every intention to save mankind from itself no matter the cost. She'd often heard other soldiers say that if Elder Maxson commanded it, they would storm the gates of hell itself without hesitation. It beguiled her. Barda wouldn't admit to anyone that she'd pictured him more than once while she was gone. His dark hair and those deep blue eyes, what his beard must feel like, imagining herself tracing that scar and asking him to tell the tale of his felling of a Deathclaw at age fourteen.

Then suddenly she was standing in front of his table with her own meal tray in hand.

"May I join you, Elder?"

"As you wish, Knight," he answered over the rim of his tankard glass as he washed down his steak with the stout. "It isn't often I get company in the mess hall." Rank always existed for the Brotherhood and Arthur wasn't exactly known for his warmth or conversational skills. He could orate when necessary but he spent more time thinking that he did speaking.

He'd been thinking a lot lately.

She was dressed similarly as she had when he'd heard her holotape echoing down the Prydwen to his quarters and he'd gone to find her at the source. Regulation jumpsuit, unzipped to the waist with the sleeves cinched around her. A black tank top this time. Judging by the sculpted muscles of her bare arms, her training with Danse and a few other Knights was going well.

Maxson downed another gulp.

"That's a shame," she thoughtfully twisted noodles onto her fork. "I'd think any soldier would jump at the chance to speak with you. Inspire them," Barda was waving her utensil casually in the air between them. "Give them purpose---"

"Give them orders," Arthur smirked a fraction and she gave a small shrug and a smile as if to concede to his point.

When she showed him her teeth it only reminded him that she was a woman from another world. He saw her smiling in the throes of victory and covered from head to toe in blood. His blood, on the other hand, was beginning to run hot.

"When do you estimate to be ready for your mission?" Speaking of orders. Dammit, was he completely incapable of not discussing duties for the length of one meal? "It has come to my attention that you've sent a few fellow Knights to the med-bay when sparring."

If she felt any guilt over the matter, Maxson could not detect it.

"They weren't taking it seriously. You stop to crack a joke and laugh, you get hit." There she was smiling again and full of mischief. She took a sip from her glass, just purified water by the looks. "I'd never put them with Knight Captain Cade for too long. We've got enough ferals and raiders banging us up to be doing the same to our own."

It was...nice talking to him like this, casually. It helped to show her that there was more to him than the murmurings in the barracks, that jumpsuit and barking orders. Maxson was taking another swig of his stout and Barda noticed that a bit of foam lingered in his mustache.

"You should join me in the ring sometime, Elder."

For a moment she thought he was going to spew his stout across the table. Instead he swallowed---the bob of his Adam's apple distracted her---and cleared his throat.

"I don't think that would be appropriate, Knight."

Barda leaned forward on her elbows and rested her chin on her laced-together hands. "Is it against protocol? Is it that you'd be fighting a woman? One of your own? Or because if I sent you to the med-bay your reputation as a hardass would be at stake?"

Maxson's lips drew together in a thin line. In fact his mouth almost disappeared completely between his mustache and beard. Barda knew she'd hit a nerve but she wasn't going to push it any further. Sipping cooly from her glass of water she waited patiently for the response, if any, that would come.

"Tonight. 2200 hours." There was a part of him that told him that he was above this and that he should not allow himself to go along with it. The other part of him, the one that remained ever interested to see her skill set and of what exactly she was capable. Maxson had imagined her at Fort Strong more than once, particularly when he looked out the windows on his command deck and saw the structure off in the distance. Paladin Danse's report of the incident had described her as completely lacking in fear as they leaped from the Vertibird and she charged ahead towards the nearest super mutant as the foul creature launched missiles in her direction. She'd dodged them masterfully and taken him out in two swings of her axe before wheeling around for the next challenge, sweat running down her face and busom heaving----

That part wasn't in the report.

God dammit.

"It's a date, Maxson."

Damn her smile.

Half an hour later her noodle bowl was empty, his brahmin steak gone, and they were sharing a bottle of whiskey. Arthur knew his limits which was about two more glasses away. Barda was looking a bit flushed herself and any more drinks and it wouldn't be much of a spar. She was laughing at something that he said and even through the warm buzzing of alcohol he found it captivating that she had a foil for her raw intensity.

The mess hall was looking quite empty at this hour and he watched as the Knight stood and walked to the counter, returning with two cups of coffee.

"Time to sober up, Arthur," she purred his name as she handed him one of the mugs. Or did he imagine it? "Only 90 minutes until our date." No, it was on purpose; she wanted to rile him up a little and see what feathers of his could be ruffled. Challenging his ego seemed to be one of them. She sipped from her mug as she fiddled with her Pip-Boy for a moment.

"I'll see you there, Elder." She rose once more and quietly stacked their dirty dishes and took them to appropriate station to be washed. Maxson watched her until he'd drained the bottom dregs of coffee from his mug and stood to exit the mess hall from a different spot so as not to attract unnecessary rumors. The Elder Maxson spending two hours in pleasant conversation with the new, lovely female Knight and leaving together? Not something he wanted to hear coming down the pipeline the next day.

* * *

 

"You did _what_ , Knight?" Paladin Danse looked absolutely incredulous. "You challenged Elder Maxson to spar with you?"

"What better way to test myself? They say he's one of the best---"

"No," Danse stopped her by holding up a large mechanical hand. "He is the best. They made him an Elder when he was sixteen. You don't get to test him." He sounded downright insulted that Barda had done it much less told him about it.

"He agreed to it, Danse," she shrugged, "I'm not sure if he's overconfident in himself or if he just underestimates me. I'm not going to embarrass him so you can stop giving me that look."

"I hope you know what you're doing, soldier," the great Paladin shook his head in disbelief.

"Any advice?"

He pursed his lips in thought before the answer came: "Don't think he'll go easy on you because you are a woman. You are a soldier and his pride is on the line."

"I would be offended if he did." And with that, she was on her way with Danse reluctantly following.

The sparring ring was at the airport. Space was valuable on the Prydwen and the inevitable spectators was not desirable aboard a mighty airship. Departing to the Earth with the changing of shifts, Elder Maxson strode to the location as confidently as always.

Like she'd said, Barda was there. As was Paladin Danse. She'd removed the jumpsuit from around her waist entirely now presumably to make her more mobile. Arthur couldn't help but to trace the long line of her legs covered in some kind of compression leggings that hugged her form close enough to make heat rise in his face. It was hardly sportsmanlike.

Only a few Knights remained, some recalibrating their weapons, others just exiting the ring. Barda looked at Maxson and pointed, curling in finger back to beckon him. The battlecoat was shed and a murmur of wonder and interest sparked in the room like wildfire. There were no rules; they had to trust one another to know when to stop.

She took a well-practiced stance and put up her fists, only tilting her head at him to indicate the she was ready to begin.

Arthur didn't wait for her to swing first. The intended blow, a perfect right hook might he add, landed at her jaw. For a moment he prayed he hadn't done anything to ruin those too-perfect teeth of hers but she hadn't reeled back in surprise as he'd expected. Barda had wheeled, yet turning a complete 360 only to gain momentum and land a low punch right to the side of his ribs.

A gasp of surprise from the small crowd that had gathered was all that he'd heard.

That was going to leave a bruise.

When their eyes met again she gave him that damn smile and turned her head to the side to spit blood onto the lightly cushioned concrete. His blood boiled.

Maxson lunged again, now quite serious about this little spar, repaying her blow to his side with a knee in her gut. Barda took the opportunity after she'd caught her breath to grab him by the arm with both hands and---

Was she going to _throw_ him?

Yes. Yes, she was. Not very far; they weren't there to kill each other after all. The impact winded him briefly but Arthur stood before she could truly gain the upper hand. It was a dance of punches, dodging, and knowing when to take a hit. The crowd didn't seem to know whom to cheer for anymore---their beloved leader or the she-barbarian. Seven minutes in and they were still standing and feeling the bruises form in more than one place.

Barda grunted with the next hit that actually sent her hurling to the ground and Arthur landed another blow to her jaw and leaned over her, expecting surrender. He knew she could handle it. And then she smiled again and damn her for distracting him for the next thing he knew Barda'd moved to wrap her strong legs around his neck, hooking her legs together at the ankles behind his back. She leaned up in an expert display of core strength and made contact, cheekbone to fist, once more. There was a gasp from the crowd as she flung him over her head using those long, powerful legs of hers and scrambled to her feet.

Maxson refused to be bested; not because she wasn't a worthy adversary, but because his authority was now on the line.

Once he'd gathered himself he swept out a leg to knock Barda off of her feet and he pounced on her, straddling her waist and pinning her arms down.

"Surrender, Knight," he warned her. Bruises were already coloring her flesh where he'd struck her face more than once and blood and spittle were at the corner of her lips.

"I concede defeat, Elder," Barda smiled again and good God they were so close now. She was panting below him and were it not for the crowd and the ring it could have very well been some violent, kinky foreplay. Finally the crowd cheered for their leader snapping Arthur from his intent stare. He regained his composure before he rose to his feet and offered his Knight a hand which she took without hesitation.

No hard feelings.

"Well done, Knight Free," he nodded at her in approval but there was no smile from him, merely the absence of a frown.

"You too, Elder," Barda straightened herself and exited the ring, accepting the compliments she received on her performance as she pulled her uniform back on. He accepted a few himself but most of them he suspected were flattery. Maxson shrugged on his battlecoat and they prepared to return to the Prydwen on the next Vertibird.

"Your training has paid off, Knight," he commented as they waited on some old red and white couches. "For a moment I had to consider the possibility that you might best me."

So modest.

"You aren't injured I trust?" Maxson forced himself to add as he glanced at her purpling jaw. He imagined his ribs looked similarly.

"A little bruised, but fine," she answered, a small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "I didn't throw you too hard. You're still walking."

Arthur knew she had not given it her all and, in truth, neither had he. Both were the kind of people that would fight until the other person was bruised and bloodied beyond recognition if that is what it took. It had been a friendly spar, after all, not life or death. A prelude to battle, perhaps. Battle or...something else.

Maxson realized she reminded him of Sarah, too. Fierce and unafraid of the daunting tasks ahead of hear, an excellent warrior---

No, stop that.

He was her Elder. Nothing more. There would never be anything more.

Barda mused over their spar with him on the short flight back to the Prydwen, discussing what both of them could have done differently to change the outcome both in the victor and in the injuries sustained. Maxson could practically see the tactical wheels turning in her head and he felt uncertain in that moment were they to try again he would best her. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat on the Vertibird, he tried not to recall how physically close they'd been as Barda recalled her impressive move when she had thrown him with her legs.

"---think I could land on my feet if I use the momentum to flip." She was looking him dead in the eye now as if waiting for his opinion on the matter that he'd been too distracted to hear.

"Affirmative," Maxson was nodding like he'd heard every word and his answer seemed to do the trick as she was smiling at him once more.

"I'll add it to my practice list," she was unbuckling from her seat now as they'd arrived back at the Prydwen. Barda stepped onto the flight deck and looked back to Maxson before continuing on to the barracks.

"Our spar was very educational," Barda nodded, a piece of her hair falling forward in her face as she did so. Maxson grunted in agreement but his mind was elsewhere. Or, at least, not about their time in the ring. They walked up the flight deck, he to his quarters and she to the barracks, with no more said between them save a parting word.

"Sleep well, Elder Maxson."

"Knight," he dipped his head in acknowledgment before disappearing behind his door. Exhausted but desperate, Maxson crumbled under temptation and took himself in his hand, imagining something quite different. It wasn't enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are the first three chapters; I'll be posting more after some feedback as accumulated!


	4. Baby, I'm a Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your warning; things heat up in this chapter! Thank you for the wonderful feedback!

The Pyrdwen was quiet at night save for the humming of the engines and the occasional distant clang, likely Proctor Quinlan's cat mousing.

Barda had not gone to her bed just yet, instead heading further down the main deck once more to the weapons and power armor stations. Two days ago she and Elder Maxson had sparred but their paths had not crossed since. The following morning she and Danse were to depart on their mission to hunt down a Courser and making sure her arsenal was appropriately prepared would do more good that her lying in bed and thinking too much.

 _How was I to know that this was always only just a little game to you?_  
_All the time I felt you gave your heart I thought that I would do the same for you,_  
_Tell the truth I think I should have seen it coming from a mile away,_  
_When the words you say are,_  
_"Baby I'm a fool who thinks it's cool to fall in love"_

Her holotape played, a new one she had found. Part of her enjoyed the nostalgia of them and the other part hated it for reminding her of happier times with Scott and their baby in their home without a care in the world. And they all seemed to be about love. **All** of them.

She'd already had and lost her life's great love. Scott was gone, dead in a Vault. She ached at the thought, but with Kellogg, his murderer, dead it was less than it had been. Did that mean she did not love him? No. She was realistic. No sense longing for what she could not have.

Really she should have expected him. Barda knew those familiar heavy footsteps by now. This time she was the first to speak.

"The volume is the lowest it will go," she said, not turning to face him. She knew it was the sound of the holotape that drew him here to find her. "Sorry for waking you, Elder."

 _If I gave a thought to fascination I would know it wasn't right to care,_  
_Logic doesn't seem to mind that I am fascinated by the love affair,_  
_Still my heart would benefit from a little tenderness from time to time, but never mind,_  
_Cause baby I'm a fool who thinks it's cool to fall in love,_

Maxson didn't speak but he'd stepped quite a bit closer and she could feel his eyes on her. Was he going to order her to take out the holotape so he could get some peace and quiet? Finally Barda turned to face him and suddenly the distance between them seemed to shrink. She smelled whiskey on him and Maxson took another step forward. Barda could not yet discern his mood as he had not spoken so she put her soldier's face on, jaw forward and meeting his eyes with hers. She could not profess to enjoy the way he silently scrutinized her with that indiscernible expression of ire he always carried. Was he so displeased with her? Even worse, had he realized that she had allowed him to be the victor of their spar?

 _Baby I should hold on just a moment and be sure it's not for vanity,_  
_Look me in the eye and tell me love is never based upon insanity,_  
_Even when my heart is beating hurry up the moment's fleeting,_  
_Kiss me now, don't ask me how,_

Maxson leaned in, face mere inches from hers, and Barda stood her ground. He would not intimidate her this way. If he wanted a rematch, well he was going to ha---

Calloused hands cupped either side of her face and Maxson had crashed his lips against hers roughly. He even had the audacity to bite her, drawing blood. It was at once entirely unprecedented and entirely pleasant. The kiss tasted like whiskey and metal and when he finally released her his tongue darted out to lick away the red from his lips. For a moment she stood, stunned.

And then her fingers were clutching to the lapels of his battlecoat and Barda yanked him towards her and repaid him in kind, bite and all. It was animal. Intoxicating.

 _Cause Baby I'm a fool who thinks it's cool to fall,_  
_Baby I'm a fool who thinks it's cool to fall,_  
_And I would never tell if you became a fool and fell in love._

When they parted breathlessly she wiped her mouth on the back of one sleeve and looked at Maxson with a smirk.

"With all due respect, sir, what the hell was that?"

He looked at her stunned, unsure of how to answer and in disbelief that he'd kissed her. He was an Elder, her superior officer. Arthur Maxson was to be above reproach and conduct himself with strict precision and protocol. And he wanted to do more than kiss Knight Free.

"My quarters. Ten minutes," was all he could answer. They could not talk here (or do much else) lest they be discovered or overheard. Before Barda could answer he was taking smooth strides away from her.

* * *

Whiskey. He needed more whiskey.

Maxson hunted down two mismatched glasses and set them on the small table in his quarters. They were by no means lavish but comfortable and private. A full bed, his desk and terminal, lockers, and a dresser. He'd hung his battlecoat on it's usual peg by the door and waited.

She hadn't knocked.

Closing the heavy door behind her, Barda crossed her arms in front of her chest and shot him an expectant look. She had, after all, asked him a question.

"Knight Free," Arthur cleared his throat as he rose to face her. He was not a timid man by any means but approaching this subject made him uneasy. "My behavior as your superior officer was entirely out of line. We will not speak of it again."

Really, it didn't answer her question. Barda crossed the room and reached past him for the second glass of whiskey that she assumed was intended to be hers and downed it in two gulps. Her eyes flickered to his and wordlessly conveyed her dissatisfaction. He shifted his weight to the opposite leg but did not break her gaze.

"Arthur," Barda _tsked_ his name as she refilled her glass. "You are too intelligent to think I'd be satisfied with that answer."

He released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"I acted with impropriety," he sipped his whiskey with more restraint that she had.

"I didn't mind it, Arthur. It was just---out of nowhere," Barda admitted. The thought had crossed her mind once or twice (okay, more than twice) since their spar, since meeting him but she did not expect him to make the first move, if any. She could feel the thrumming of her pulse where Maxson had bitten her lip.

"And you are aware of my situation," she added with a warning in her eyes. "My husband is dead." Maxson couldn't possibly want that kind of baggage. No man would least of all one with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Not unless he was after something purely physical. That maybe she could do.

"It was determined that tomorrow's mission has a calculated success chance of thirty-five percent," he finally spoke. "There was no room for regrets."

Closing the distance between them and finishing off her second glass, Barda couldn't stop the overwhelming urge to kiss him again. His beard was rough against her skin and their teeth clinked together harshly. "Then let's not leave any."

Her hands were on him, hungrily exploring his muscular planes over his black flight suit and undoing every belt and clasp that she came across. Seemingly pleased with this development, Maxson responded with a groan of approval and settled his hands on her hips. Barda continued her assault on his lips with kisses and bites that left them both feeling swollen and needy. She kissed up along the angry scar that ran across his otherwise young and perfect face---she still wanted to hear the story from him.

"Clothes. Off," she panted in his ear and pushed Arthur away. It had been so long since she'd last been with someone and now that he had lit the spark there would be no going back. And maybe, just maybe, if she closed her eyes tight enough time would turn back and everything would be right again. Maxson was not so consumed yet by lust to lose sense of his need for dominance.

"Yours first, soldier," he'd gripped her chin with one gloved hand to which Barda responded by biting the tip of the glove and peeling it from his fingers with her teeth. Arthur shivered. Stripping free from her regulation jumpsuit he finally had the opportunity to appreciate the curves that thus far he'd (mostly) resisted imagining. She was lean and muscular but not without the softness that he so enjoyed in a woman. Where he was sharp edges she was supple and smooth. Maxson watched as she tossed her tank top to the side where it joined his glove on the ground.

This time his hands were on her, cupping her bare breasts and running calloused fingers over the peaks but didn't linger. Now was not the time for tenderness. They were two people in need of relief, a fact that was wordlessly understood between them. Roughly he tugged down the remainder of her jumpsuit and stuck his hand between her legs.

"I've wanted you since we sparred," he said hotly in her ear. "Since before then. When you came back from Fort Strong."

And judging by what he felt at the apex of her thighs, Barda wanted him too. He dipped a single finger inside her heat and Arthur watched as she bit her lip to stifle the moan that threatened to push past her lips. Those beautiful lips. She was the one to move next, shoving his flight suit off of his shoulders. She'd pushed a bit too hard and Maxson found himself stumbling against the corner of his bed but she was not deterred. Cupping him with her much softer hand Barda earned yet another groan and she smirked at him.

"I assume," she squeezed him, "you want it rough?"

His hips bucked into her touch in response.

The next thing he knew there were no more clothes in the way and she was on top of him on his bed kissing along his neck with nips from those perfect teeth. It was a good thing his uniform would cover any bruises. She was taking the lead and while it assured him that she was not just going along with it to appease her superior officer, Maxson wanted to be the one in charge.

He wanted to tame the barbarian.

Arthur gripped her and rolled so that he was above her, lips claiming every inch of skin she presented to him. He ached for completion as she smirked up at him and looked into his eyes dark with desire. When he sheathed himself within her she moaned and, god, it had been so long. Barda's hands flew up to grip the metal bars at the top of his bedframe and she beckoned him to give her a reason to scream his name.

They were a tangle of desperate touches and gasps as they grinded against one another. Her nails raked angry red lines down his back and Arthur was sure he would come undone. Then he was taking her from behind and his hand smacked sharply against her rear and he could swear she'd hissed his name. The only sound in his quarters now were the delicious melody of flesh against flesh and pants and moans. Arthur's other hand wrapped savagely in Barda's hair and pulled.

She liked that. The pleasure mixed with pain---it made her feel something. Something she hadn't felt in a long time: alive in a way that going toe-to-toe with raiders and super mutants didn't.

Not wholly selfish, he made certain that he satisfied her with his finger against her pearl. His pride would simply not allow him to leave her wanting. Barda's breaths became more ragged and she broke with a shudder barely able to stay on all fours. Arthur bent over her, keeping her steady with an arm around her waist, biting at her shoulder and falling over the brink, spilling himself inside her.

They stayed like that for a few moments gathering their breaths and thoughts. Arthur pulled away, already missing her warmth. She allowed herself to collapse on his bed with a contented sigh. He was good. Barda had suspected he would bed a woman with the same intensity with which he commanded his troops and Arthur had not disappointed.

"That was," he was still panting, "outstanding." It was the first word that came to mind that was not crude. She looked spectacular like that on his bed, dark hair splayed over his pillow and his seed dripping from between her legs. Barda stretched and sat up to give him a kiss, one far more gentle than the previous ones.

"Yes, it was," Barda hummed. But there was something wrong.  
"I apologize for not...asking your permission," he cleared his throat. In the back of his mind he heard that nagging voice, reminding him of the need to continue the Maxson line.

"I'm not worried," Barda commented quietly. She hadn't had a cycle since she'd woken from cryogenic sleep; perhaps an unexpected side effect of the process? Or more likely, she'd been under such emotional and physical stress that her hormones did not know what to do. "Does this change anything between us?" She suspected the answer was no, but she did not like to operate in shades of grey.

"You are still a Knight as I remain your Elder," his brows were knitted together in a frown. "This incident will remain private." And any others, should they occur. "You are to tell no one."

"Divorce duty from pleasure," Barda confirmed.

"Yes. Here," Maxson offered her a cloth so that she could clean herself.

"Just to be clear, Arthur, I do not want any emotional attachment," she took the scrap of linen from him and tidied herself. "If that's what you are looking for then this was a mistake. A fantastic mistake, but a mistake."

"Please do not assume that this is a regular occurrence aboard the Prydwen," he poured himself another two fingers of whiskey. "I do not merely select women from among my ranks to sate the baser needs at will." Arthur was far too disciplined to do so.

"So what was this then?" Barda rose from the bed to discard the cloth. Maxson noticed she hadn't bothered to gather up her clothes just yet.

"The culmination of immense stress and an intense physical attraction," he answered without hesitation. "I needed the release and you did as well. That is all."

"I can live with that," she was back on his bed with her powerful legs neatly crossed. A moment of silence passed between them before Barda raised her brow at him and inquired:

"Ready for round two?"

* * *

Arthur was exhausted when Barda finally crept out of his quarters to return to her own bed in the barracks. He'd brought her to completion four more times and she'd done the same for him twice. They would both be bruised and scratched and sore come morning.

She was just like what he'd read she was on the battlefield: intense, determined, and powerful. Maxson had to admit that he'd met his match in bed; she was not a shrinking violet who submitted to him unconditionally. Instead it was give and take and he'd never felt so sexually satisfied in his life.

He craved more of her. He wanted his hands tangled in her hair, his lips at her neck as he buried himself in her to the hilt. He wanted her to thrash underneath him and to leave her with no more air in her lungs.

But it would have to wait.

Barda had left with Paladin Danse on their mission to kill a courser and Maxson feared that she would not return. His bed would once again be cold.


	5. Small Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little baby chapter; it didn't seem to fit in with the next section.

"You're acting different, soldier. Is something wrong?"

They were by the C.I.T. Ruins, listening for a frustratingly fickle radio interference that seemed to come in and out of focus with little rhyme or reason.

"I'm fine, Danse," Barda was concentrating on the screen of her Pip-Boy. "Just a little distracted."

"You can't afford to be distracted, not when we're hunting one of the Institute's most deadly weapons," he chided. She knew he was right but it was hard not to think about Elder Maxson's hands and tongue and cock doing so many _delightful_ things to her.

"Danse, can I trust you with something?"

"Of course, Knight Free. I'm all ears."

"Elder Maxson asked me to come to his quarters last night."

"That's not so unusual--sometimes he gathers new recruits together to get to know them better," he was scanning the horizon through the scope of his laser pistol.

"Danse, look at me," Barda said sternly. She gave him a rather pointed look and spoke very precisely her next sentence: "It was **not** _that_ kind of meeting."

Slowly it seemed to dawn on him, his expression phasing from confusion to bewilderment to shock and every possible adjective in between.

"You went to bed with a superior officer? With **Elder** _Maxson_?"

"More than once," she admitted though there was no hint of shame in her face. "I just don't want it to be anything more than what it was. Scott--well, you know."

"I understand, soldier." Though he still looked quite puzzled when he said it. "He told you not to tell anyone, I'm sure. So why did you?"

"Because," she picked off a distant raider with her sniper rifle--the only gun she used on occasion--"I trust you. And someone needs to make sure I don't take leave of my senses."

"So if you tell me that the Elder had won over your girlish heart?"

"Punch me square in the face, power armor and all."


	6. Confident Wreck

In the Commonwealth, no news wasn't necessarily good news.

Paladin Danse and Knight Free hadn't reported in yet and it was making Elder Maxson more irritable and rigid than usual. Scribes and Knights alike scattered down the corridors of the Prydwen in the wake of his warpath. If Danse and Free were not successful in hunting the Courser then the Brotherhood would remain one step behind the Institute. They were among his best soldiers---failure was not an option.

And at night he dreamed that she had returned and come to his quarters which left him hard and frustrated.

Days passed.

A scribe entered the command deck and handed him a report. "Paladin Danse and his team are due to return by 1300 hours, Elder. They made contact with the Cambridge Police Station at 0900 hours."

"Dismissed, Scribe," Maxson didn't turn away from the window and instead rested his forearm on the cool of the glass and surveyed the Earth below. Did that mean they had been successful? Considering Knight Free's trademark determination and intensity, their return was either very good or very bad.

As it turned out it wasn't so good.

He heard the Vertibird docking, Maxson fulled expected Paladin Danse and Knight Free to report to him immediately. Instead it was Danse and he was alone.

"Paladin, report." Maxson demanded without betraying his stoic expression to the twisting concern in his gut. "Where is Knight Free?

"We were able to successfully terminate the Courser, Elder Maxson. We then traveled to Goodneighbor for analysis of the chip recovered from the Courser's brain," Danse looked exhausted. His power armor desperately needed to be repaired; it looked as though it was about to fall in pieces around him. "This led us to return to the Glowing Sea to the rogue Institute scientist, Virgil." He couldn't even muster up the energy to comment on the fact that he was a super mutant.

"It was on the return journey that we ran into some trouble, Elder. Deathclaw nest."

Maxson knew that Barda could handle a Deathclaw. More than one could have proved fatal to anyone even the most skilled soldier to walk the Earth.

"We managed to kill two of them before the Alpha---" Danse trailed off, finding it difficult to put the memories to words.

"Speak, Paladin," the Elder was glowering now. "What happened?"

"An Alpha Deathclaw ripped Knight Free out of her Power Armor. Like a damn sardine can." Danse paused to collect himself once more. "I managed to exterminate the beast but Knight Free was seriously injured and suffered an increased exposure to the radiation. She was taken immediately to Knight Captain Cade for treatment."

"Is that it?"

"It doesn't look good, sir," was the last thing Danse could say before he was dismissed.  
Arthur waited for what felt like hours before he descended down to the main deck off to the med-bay. Maxson heard screaming. Not of pain, but of rage.

Barda thrashed on the cot in the med-bay as Cade tried to hold her down and administer Radaway and a sedative. Maxson leaped into action and rushing in to restrain her, yelled for assistance. Two Knights answered his call and joined him and kept her from moving just long enough for Cade to give her the injections. Immediately her body fell lax and Barda was silent, staring up at the ceiling with lips parted and hair clinging to her forehead with sweat.

Arthur dismissed the two Knights before turning to Cade. The bloodied towels on the floor were enough to answer him, but he asked regardless.

"How bad is it, Knight Captain?"

"She's lucky to be alive, Elder," Cade pulled the curtain closed so as to deter curious eyes. He rolled in his chair a few feet over to prep a needle for stitching and supplies to disinfect the wound. Arthur saw it now, a long gash stretching across Barda's body from just underneath her breast diagonally down to the opposite hip. It continued to weep blood, soaking into the shreds of her jumpsuit. She was fortunate indeed; the alpha came close to disemboweling her. Gingerly Maxson grabbed a pair of scissors and cut away the rest of Barda's jumpsuit and peeled it away. Before the Knight Captain could turn around and steal a glance of her naked form, Arthur covered her breasts with a clean towel. The man was a medical professional but she...she was his. Soon after, Cade went to work stitching her up with masterful hands.

"If the Vertibird had been a quarter of an hour later, she would have bled out regardless of Paladin Danse's quick thinking to apply compression."

He didn't question why the Elder chose to stay hovering over him like a hawk. Barda would occasionally hiss with pain but she was no longer enraged and out of her mind from radiation. When Cade had stitched her up with both internal and external wounds he applied a disinfectant and she screwed her eyes shut and bit her lip to keep from crying out at the incredible sting.

"I advise that she stay here under observation for the next few days, Elder Maxson," the Knight Captain said as he wrapped her torso in clean bandages. "It will take quite some time for her to heal and be ready for fieldwork."

"Understood. See to it that she rests and does not leave. That's an order." Maxson leaned over Barda; she only barely seemed to register his presence.

"Knight Free, you have your orders. Sleep and heal. Nothing else." And with that, he was gone back to his quarters, wishing she was there instead so he could keep watch over her.

* * *

"I hate this, Danse."

She was sitting up in her cot slurping her noodle cup as aggressively as possible.

"You need to rest," the Paladin was, for once, out of his beloved Power Armor sitting in a metal chair by her bed. He'd brought by some gifts from some other soldiers: a Grognak the Barbarian issue from Danse, a teddy bear from Scribe Haylen, among other things. Hancock had even sent her some booze, but Danse had stowed it away in his quarters for the time being.

"I feel so _weak_. Useless."

"You almost died, soldier." He wouldn't have forgiven himself if she had. "You won't be clearing any raider camps any time soon."   
Cade still hadn't released her from the med-bay after several days and Barda was going absolutely stir crazy being cooped up with only the occasional visit from Danse and Proctor Quinlan's cat who'd taken to curling up on her feet. Elder Maxson had yet to make an appearance. She didn't expect that that would upset her, but it did.

Danse was shooed away as the Knight Captain returned to change Barda's dressing and reprimand her for sitting up when her core was so fragile. She gotten used to the poking and prodding from him and had long stopped bothering with modesty.

"You can come back in, Danse," she called once she was decent again with a soft cotton robe over her bandages.

"Paladin Danse was needed on the flight deck."

The sound of Maxson's voice startled her and it was followed by the man himself sliding open the curtain and closing it behind him.

"It's good to see you awake, solider," he sat in the same chair that Danse had occupied, leaning forward attentively with his elbows resting on his knees. "I trust you are not doing anything to impede your recovery?" It was almost an accusation and Barda hated how he made her feel like a child caught sneaking treats from the cookie jar.

"I'd stopped thinking you would come by." She didn't remember her arrival on the Prydwen or Arthur staying by her side until sleep came.

"I have duties, Knight Free. Duty takes precedence."

She was laying on her side so that she could look at him properly. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes Maxson hadn't been sleeping. "Have you found someone to replace me, Elder?" Barda asked nonchalantly but with just enough suggestion that Arthur knew she was not speaking of her place on the front lines.

"Why would you think that?"

"You haven't been sleeping."

"That does not mean---" he frowned deeply as he leaned in closer. "That I am _fucking_ some other woman."

"I believe you." Barda granted him a small smile. "You're a patient man."

"We thought you were going to die, Knight."

"I can't die. Not until I find my son and make those responsible regret their every life decision." She was sounding like her old self again. "But," Barda sighed into her soft pillow. "This is a setback that I begrudge to tolerate."

"You won't do any good doing more than your body can handle," Maxson warned her. "You will follow Knight Captain Cade's recommendations precisely. That's an order. As for your mission, there have been several teams assigned to gather the appropriate materials for the schematics you were given."

Barda's blue eyes held his. "Arthur--" It was a whisper and she reached for him. Looking back at the curtain and ensuring their privacy, he leaned further in, curious.

Her chapped lips brushed against his and even dared to linger.

"That will be all, Knight." Maxson gave her a small nod and---was that a smile? Before she could question it he had risen from the chair and was sweeping past the curtain.  
  



	7. Jealous Heart

Two weeks. Two long hellish weeks Barda had spent confined to a cot in the med-bay. Knight Captain Cade was growing weary of her complaining and, at his request and with the Paladin's approval, she was moved to Danse's quarters. Since he was out in the Commonwealth on a number of missions he had no need to return to the Prydwen just yet beyond reporting to the Elder when necessary.

At least in the med-bay she'd had the company of Proctor Quinlan's cat. There were only so many times she could play the games on her Pip-Boy and read through her collection of comic books and magazines. Barda was getting better, though. Her daily doses of Stimpaks were certainly helping and Cade had assured her he could remove her stitches in the next day or two.

There was a sharp knock on the door.

"Come in," she answered from where she sat propped up on the bed by cushions. To Barda's surprise, it was Elder Maxson. He entered wordlessly and closed the door behind him.

"Elder," Barda greeted, a smile curling her lips.

"Knight."

"Is there something wrong?" She scanned his face for any betrayal of emotion but as expected, there was none.

"No." Arthur pulled up a chair by her bedside. "I just finished a few reports and thought you could use some company whilst on a break." Without asking, he pulled back the thin blanket that covered her and pushed away her robe. Her nipples pebbled with the cool air and his gaze. Barda tensed. "Your dressing needs changing."

"Cade said he would come by, but it has been a few hours."

"He's tending to the team that just returned. There were several injuries." His hands snaked around her abdomen to where the bandages began and started to unravel them. Considering the last time they were this close their touches had been quite rough his tenderness came as quite the surprise.

Somehow this was more intimate for him to see her wound, still red and angry but healing. The flesh around it was purple with bruises and Barda found herself feeling self-conscious. Weak.

Maxson muttered something under his breath and reached for the first-aid kit that had been brought in with her. Dabbing some antiseptic on a cloth, he began the process of applying it to the gash. It stung, as usual, but Barda was quiet. She simply clutched at the sheets and bit her lip until he was through. Then he wrapped clean bandages around her middle, his eyes distracted by her bare breasts. He still had dreams of them, of her. He was growing hard at the thought.

But now was the time for restraint. Maxson carefully cinched her robe back in place and leaned away.

"Thank you," Barda said quietly. "Arthur. I've been thinking; you have a whole file on me and yet I know practically nothing about you."

"What would you like to know?" He was proud of his lineage, his accomplishments and had no secrets to speak of. If she wanted to know him, he would tell her.

"Everything."

By the time he'd finished answering her questions it was well beyond time for him to return to work. But Arthur could not bring himself to part from Barda's side.

"So you really _are_ the crown prince of the Brotherhood," she was smiling at him again and it felt like that was all he needed in the world.

"There is no such title among our ranks."

"In other words, _yes_."

Barda was surprised when Arthur actually laughed. When he quieted, she reached out to him, fingers sliding along his jaw through his beard until she was tracing the scar that marked his face. She imagined it: a bright-eyed fourteen year old fighting for his life against one of the most fearsome beasts in this new world, and winning.

"Now we both have Deathclaws to thank for our scars, don't we?" She hummed the rhetorical question. Her touch had sent a shiver down Arthur's spine and awakened desire in him. His hand snapped to her wrist and pulled it away. They couldn't. Not yet.

"I want you, Knight," he admitted through gritted teeth. He did not want her to have to explain to Cade just how she'd ripped her scutchers. "I should leave before we both regret it."

"Arthur---wait." Barda beckoned him to look at her. "Come, sit by me."

Foul temptress. Against his better judgment, he did, his back straight as a board. Barda extended her arm and cupped him with one hand. His breath hitched and Maxson shot her a warning glare.

"Just let me. To tide you over for now."

She stroked him over the fabric of his flight suit, but it wasn't enough. He wrestled with a few buckles and zippers and freed himself. Her nails danced over the sensitive flesh before she gripped him and slowly began to pump him. It had been too long and his own hand had been a poor substitute for this.

"We can't have our esteemed Elder distracted while he goes about his duties," she purred.

"Your mouth. Use your mouth," Arthur stood at the head of the bed so she could do just that. Barda shot him a glare at the order but acquiesced; had she been back to normal she would have challenged him. Instead her lips brushed against his length, teasing, until she took him in her mouth and he groaned loudly.

It didn't take long until Arthur threw his head back and spent himself with a throaty moan. Making sure he was drained, Barda released him with a _pop_ of her lips and smiled.

"You---you did not have to do that." Arthur finally said once he'd come back down from his orgasm.

"I know."

There was a knock at the door that almost made Maxson jump out of his skin. He quickly tucked himself back into his uniform and haphazardly resecured the belts before answering with a bark:

"Enter."

To their surprise, it was Paladin Danse carrying a dinner tray.

"Elder, I was told you might have been in here keeping Knight Free company," he gave him a respectful nod before looking to Barda. "I brought you mirelurk cake! And some squirrel on a stick." Danse seemed proud of it as if he'd cooked it himself. "I'll be sleeping in your bunk tonight, I've been told." He still beamed with not even the smalled hint of resentment that she was occupying his private quarters.

"Thank you, Paladin Danse," Barda offered a soft smile. A bolt of jealousy surged through Arthur at the sight; her smiles should only be for him.

"I have matters to attend to," Maxson said briskly. "Knight, Paladin." He exited the room as Danse began to tell Barda about his most recent mission. The more he thought about the Paladin being in there with her the more infuriated Maxson became. He wasn't able to relax in his own quarters until he heard the door open and the booming steps of the Paladin's departure at 1900 hours. Should he go see her? No, Barda needed her rest. But what if she'd done a _favor_ for Danse as well? After all, they'd agreed there were no emotions between them.

At least, there wasn't supposed to be.

The thought would not leave him be and Maxson found himself again at her door, knocking and entered before she responded. Barda was still awake, perusing what appeared to be a newly acquired issue of _Picket Fences_.

"Do you require anything further before you sleep, Knight?"

"I'm fine, Elder," she quirked a brow at him. "Are you alright? I didn't expect you to come back tonight---"

"Did you have a **good** time with _Paladin Danse_?" Maxson spat, barely able to control his rage. She stared at him, affronted.

"Yes, we caught up with what's been going on with one another. What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Watch your tongue, Knight." It was a hiss of outrage. How dare she speak to him that way!

"What the hell is the matter with you, **Elder** , sir?"

"Did you touch him?"

"What? No, why would you think that?" This was ludicrous. "What kind of woman do you think I am? Danse and I are friends. Nothing more."

"I've seen the way he looks at you."

"And?"

"Only _I_ can look at you that way."

It occurred to Barda then how young Arthur truly was behind his title and serious facade. "Well go, gouge his eyes out then!" She shouted back at him, anger flaring in her now as well. "You can't control everyone, Arthur!"

If she wasn't hurt, he might have slapped her. In the back of his mind he knew she would have just punched him right back.

"How am I supposed to trust that there will be nothing else between you and him?" Maxson paced like a caged animal ready to strike. Barda was leaning up on her elbows, her ocean eyes boring a hole into him.

"You trust me as a Knight, trust me as a damn woman, Arthur. You are precisely the second person I have ever bedded, the first being my _dead_ husband." She growled back. "I am not just going to jump in bed with someone else!"

"I was someone else, was I not? We agreed it was physical, did we not? What's to stop you from doing the same with another?" Maxson was getting dangerously close to hearing something he knew he did not want to. Throwing off the blanket over her legs, Barda forced herself to rise from the bed with a wince. Stomping over to him with a wobble she looked livid, Maxson was about to order her to get back in bed.

She didn't give him the chance before she cupped his face in her hands and roughly pulled him to her for a crushing kiss, not unlike their first.

"Because I'm not an idiot, Arthur. I like what we have."

That seemed to satisfy him for the time being. He made no move to speak or kiss her again but helped her back into bed. As Maxson turned to leave, Barda reached out a grabbed his hand with hers.

"Arthur, trust me. Please."

He nodded without a sound and left, leaving Barda alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It can't all be fun and games! Comments are appreciated!


	8. Don't Make Me Read Your Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not in to the whole following the game events verbatim, so they'll mostly be implied. This is the last chapter I have finished at the moment, but more will come soon. Thank you for the positive feedback.

"It's good to see you out and about, Knight Free," Proctor Quinlan said as he sifted through a box of files. She'd come to say hello to the cat, really. She rubbed behind its ears eliciting a purr.

"It's good to be mobile again, Proctor." Barda had missed her legs, missed talking to her fellow soldiers. She missed fresh air even more and the first time she'd walked on the flight deck since her injury seemed to breathe live back into her. "I'm sure I'll be bringing you technical documents again in no time."

"I should hope so, they're all over the Commonwealth, you know--" And there he went rambling on as usual. Bidding him good-bye, Barda headed to her bunk in the barracks (she'd let Danse have his quarters back once she'd been taken off of bed rest). She needed her axe and she needed to get off of the Prydwen even if it was just to plant her two feet on the solid ground at the airport. Being stuck and unable to make progress towards finding her son was interminable. Would she be strong enough to handle what the Institute threw at her? If--when--she got in? The thought made lightning shoot across her middle where a scar was well on its way to forming.

Proctor Ingram was supposed to be working on the teleporter and, as Barda found, she was.

"The last few components that we need are being brought by two teams. Should be in by the end of the week. Then it's just a matter of building the thing."

It was good news. It felt like every step closer she got it was another back and this was definitely a move forward.

"It's good to see you back on your feet, Knight," Ingram didn't smile but the sentiment was warm nonetheless. Barda responded in agreement with her; feeling like her old self again was all she could ask for.

The sparring ring was abuzz with activity. Barda strode into the room and found herself leaning against the ropes and cheering wildly for a Knight she'd not seen previously but definitely had a strong skill set. She longed for the day she was well enough to challenge him, or anyone else, and reign as unofficial queen of the ring.

"Shouldn't you be resting, soldier?" Danse's familiar voice was behind her and Barda turning, smiling.

"I've had enough rest, Danse. Besides, I wanted to feel the ground under my feet again."

"I understand completely," he gave her a nod. "But you should get back to the Prydwen," he clasped a hand to her shoulder. "That's an order, soldier."

"From you?"

"Yes. And from Elder Maxson. He wants to speak with you."

"Great," she sighed.

"I thought," Danse's voice dropped to a whisper as they walked back towards the landing pad. "You liked talking with him?"

"I do, it's just---you know what? It's not important." They boarded the next Vertibird and Barda was back in her cage, restless as a tiger. She did not find Maxson in his usual place on the Command Deck so she descended down to the Main Deck and gave a sharp knock on his door.

"Knight Free," he dipped his head in greeting and stood aside to allow her appropriate room. "Come in."

She did, perhaps against her better judgment. Maxson closed the heavy door with a thud that almost made her jump.

"Knight Captain Cade reported that you are healing well." He stood quite stiffly, hands behind his back. Impersonal. Barda stared at him for a moment before unzipping her jumpsuit to show him the healing wound.

"Still a bit sore, but certainly better."

Maxson seemed a bit surprised that she'd showed it to him, keeping his head up and his eyes concentrated on her face.

"Excellent, excellent," he made no move towards her. Was Arthur upset? Barda zipped up her uniform and crossed her arms. "Once Proctor Ingram has finished building the teleporter you will be off to the Institute. I do hope what you find there is...beneficial."

"For _you_." There was a bite to her words, implying his selfishness.

"For the _Brotherhood_ and our crusade against them. I hope that your mind is not so clouded by your personal vendetta that you forget your duty." Shots fired.

"You promised me that as long as my mission did not interfere with the Brotherhood that I would succeed."

"And the promise remains. But we do not yet know what you will find there."

Barda glowered at him; he had a point, one she would never verbally concede to. Her baby was too important. Maxson took a few steps forward until he was an arm's length away. The memory of his touch burned in her mind and she wanted to shove him against the wall and remind him that what kind of woman she was. The sex was meaningless, yes, but not without honor.

A gloved hand reached for her, cupping her jaw and thumb tracing the white line of the scar at her lip. Maxson was lost for a moment; his gaze was somewhere far away.

"Don't make me read your mind," Barda spoke and, for a moment, it seemed as though he had not heard her.

"Remember where your loyalties lie," his eyes bored into her. "With the Brotherhood." With _me_.

"I told you to trust me, Arthur," she answered. "So trust me."

And then he had pulled her flush against him, mindful of her middle, and brushed his lips against hers. He hated that he couldn't help himself. He hated that when she challenged him it only made him burn for her more. He hated that way she made him forget everything appropriate. The soft sound of surprise that she made only spurred him onward. He kissed her hard, sweeping his tongue across her teeth and pulling at her bottom lip. Barda shoved him away, wiping her lips on her sleeve and panting breathlessly. Arthur thought she looked like she was going to berate him and storm out of his quarters in indignation.

Instead she'd pinned him the the back of his door and seized his lips with her own. Hands slipped through the short, immaculately trimmed hair at the sides of his head until they threaded into the longer hair at his crown.

"You're going to have to be gentle," she reminded him. And gentle, he was, at least when it came to stripping away her uniform from her torso and setting Barda upon his bed. Someone could knock at any moment; a scribe, a Proctor. It was the middle of the afternoon and if all went well, none would be the wiser. He was over her now, his mouth on hers and hands digging into the flesh of her hips. Barda moaned softly, her hands once again in his hair, because _God_ she's missed this and maybe she's even missed him.

There is little prelude beyond fevered kisses and longing touches when Arthur takes her. He moved slowly at first as if she were still his dream threatening to fade away and leave him too warm and wanting. Then she was clutching to his rear and spurring him on. She wanted to feel him, to feel anything but the loneliness this world had left her with. It's desperation and flesh against flesh until Barda broke with a shudder and she's much too hot for him. Arthur tumbled after her and for a moment there is nothing but the two of them.

"I trust you," he murmured in her ear. Barda's body ached as she rose, pushing Maxson off of her so that she may clean herself. Once her uniform is back on it is as if nothing ever happened. Maxson slipped on his flight suit and coat and he'd gone back to his terminal typing a report of his own. She was unsure of herself for the first time since waking to this hellish world.

"Was that all, Elder?" She finally asked; how easily they slipped in and out of decorum.

"Yes, Knight. That was all." Maxson answered gruffly. And then she remembers there is nothing between them and that is how it had to be. Barda excused herself wordlessly from his quarters, her heart thrumming with an unrealized longing.


	9. Everything Was Coming All Apart Inside of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the main story! Next chapter will be up next week. Enjoy and please leave a comment!

"I found him."

There were no tears in her eyes. Barda could not bring herself to mourn for the many lost years, for a child brought up without his mother. When she looked into Father's eyes, she saw parts of herself and parts of Scott but what she felt caused guilt to grip her stomach.

Father was not her son. In blood, yes, but she felt nothing when she looked at him. The Institute had been so unexpectedly hospitable, so pristine. He wanted her to join their cause, to usher the dying world into a new, brighter future. She almost hated him for that.

To assume that because he was of her blood, that she had risked so much to find him, that she would throw away everything else for their cause was insane. She hated him for making her think a synth was her son, to watch him recoil in fear. And she'd wanted to strike him the moment he referred to Scott as collateral damage.

'I'm not sure,' was her answer. As much as it wounded her maternal instincts, Barda did not trust him. He should not trust her.

She was back on the Prydwen, disoriented from being in a place so unlike anything she'd ever experienced and returning to the familiar, like waking from a dream.

"Your son?" Elder Maxson raised a thick brow. The fact that she had made it back in one piece, with Proctor Ingram's requested data and the ability to come and go to the Institute at will was honestly shocking.

"Yes, Shaun," Barda's expression betrayed no emotion. The fact was she simply did not know how to feel. "He's the leader of the Institute and a sixty-year-old man." The smile she gave him was sad. "He's not my baby."

"Have your report to me as soon as possible," the Elder ordered, knowing it would take some time for her to process everything. "Do nothing to inspire mistrust in the Institute; you are an asset in our war against them."

"Understood."

He'd never seen her like this: defeated.

"I believe you could use a drink, Knight. Meet me at 1800 hours. My quarters."

Barda gave him a silent nod and retreated to the barracks.

Everything she had known, had assumed had changed completely. Barda wanted to scream and punch and tear a super mutant limb from limb with her bare hands. The Institute hadn't only taken her baby from her, they'd taken his entire life and molded him into a loyal lap dog with a crown on his head. Her baby commanded machines that stole people away from their families and remained in the shadows, hiding away and keeping their technology to themselves.

The thought made bile rise in her throat.

All she could do was lay down on her bunk and stare silently at the domed metal ceiling above. The sounds around her seemed miles away, like she was hearing everything underwater. Barda had sworn fidelity to the Brotherhood of Steel. The fact that her missing son led the Institute, the enemy...did that change anything? Should it? Deep down she knew what would happen if she remained loyal; her son would die.

Maybe he already was.

The tears rolled slowly. Tears for the sixty years she lost. Never teaching Shaun to speak, to walk, to talk. To never clutch him to her chest after a scraped knee. To never see him in his first play or little league game. To never dance with him at his wedding, to hold her grandchildren.

The time came for her to meet Maxson and she needed that drink more than anything. Drying her eyes, Barda made her way back towards the bow. She entered his quarters with one knock. Arthur was there, waiting for her with a freshly poured glass of bourbon.

"Help yourself, Knight." Maxson gestured with a gloved hand to the glass before taking one himself. Barda sat down in a chair and tossed back the liquor in one gulp, immediately pouring more. It burned, but it helped.

"I thought that once I found Shaun, even if he was a ten-year-old boy, that we would be a family again," Barda took another generous gulp. "We would make a life for ourselves somewhere and be happy. Instead he's older than I am and wants me to support an entity that exists in shadows and keeps their advancements for themselves. One that I've been told to hate and fear since the moment I woke up."

Maxson silently wondered if Barda would defect. The thought concerned him; she was an asset to the Brotherhood. For him there was the Brotherhood and everything else, nothing in between. But Barda, she had her son.

"I look at him and I... **hate** _him_ ," she admitted, brows drawn together in anger and confusion. "He's not my baby. He's a _stranger_."

Silence hung over them like a fog.

"The time will soon come when you must make a decision," Maxson finally spoke. "Choose the Brotherhood or the Institute. I trust you know which one is the right answer."

"I know your answer," she reached for a pack of cigarettes. She lit it and took a drag. "The Brotherhood. I'd say you're a little biased, though."

"For a good reason," Arthur was nursing his own drink. "My family founded the Brotherhood of Steel whereas your son was brainwashed into leading the Institute."

Careful, Arthur.

"I'm his mother," she tried to hold back the tears. "But I cannot erase sixty years of indoctrination."

She hadn't expected Arthur to clasp his hand on her shoulder, much less pull her into a comforting, if awkward, embrace. They'd been close before, yes, in whispers of skin against skin, but something about this moment was far more intimate. Arthur did not touch, not like this, to comfort instead of for pleasure. It felt like a mistake the moment he'd done it but Barda was clinging to his battlecoat and he could not bring himself to pull away.

"Arthur---" her voice trembled every so slightly, "I would like to request for leave. I need some time."

"Granted, Knight. One week, then you shall return for your next mission."

"Thank you," she murmured against the soft wool at his lapel before leaning up and brushing her lips against to roughness of his cheek.


	10. Introspect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay; work and school have been busy and I've had some personal issues going on the past two weeks. Hope you enjoy this little update. As always, comments and con crit are appreciated.

"Sounds like you've had a rough week," Nick conceded, dipping his head at Barda. Diamond City probably wasn't the best place in the Commonwealth to try and sort herself out, but she had friends here. Friends that weren't Danse, weren't Arthur and could help her come to a non-biased decision.

The fact that Nick was a synth had never bothered Barda. Maybe it was because it wasn't something he ever tried to keep a secret. His eyes, though, they'd been difficult to become accustomed to. But he had helped her find Kellogg, risked himself to analyze his brain and find Virgil--just as he'd proven himself to the people of Diamond City, he'd proved himself to her.

"That's an understatement," Barda grimaced. "I finally found him--and he's a stranger. I thought that I would find Shaun and we would make a life together. Instead he already has a life that he wants to shoe-horn me into."

She looked to the Detective, a frown creasing her brow.

"The only thing I can think to thank the Institute for is making you."

"Well that's something," Nick responded dryly, but in good spirits. She offered the Synth a small smile.

"Now--let's go take out some raiders," her smile quirked into something more mischievous.

* * *

Denial and sadness had given way to anger in a weeks time.

Arthur could tell by the way she rode him aggressively. His weathered hands gripped possessively at her hips as he gazed up at Barda. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders, haloed by the light above. Tension coiled in his belly as together they chased release, their momentary distraction. He brushed a thumb against her in deliberate circles that made her hiss in pleasure. Whatever they had here, destructive may it be, worked for them. Yet here, in this moment, he felt his heart thrum for more.

His hold on her tightened and Arthur reversed them, she below with a surprised expression on her angular features. Barda almost seemed disappointed to no longer be the one in control into he rutted into her anew and his quarters once again echoed with the slap of flesh against flesh in perfect rhythm and the gasps and moans that fell between them.

He'd become her anchor in a world that seemed to make less and less sense with each passing day. When she broke it came without warning, stealing breath from her lungs and causing the commander above her to roar as he chased her and spilled himself inside.

"My orders, Elder?" she mused after long moments of silence and catching of breaths passed. They lay together in the afterglow. Orders? Maxson's brow furrowed as he tried to remember what they had been.

"Relax, Arthur," Barda stretched languidly against him. "I wasn't serious."

He laughed through his nose and shook his head. Silence once again fell between them.

"What would you do? Forget the Brotherhood for a moment," she pleaded. "If you'd slept away your son's entire life?"

Shifting so that he might meet Barda's gaze, he looked to her with his customary seriousness. "I cannot forget the Brotherhood. Not even hypothetically can I separate myself." He was surprised when she chuckled as if she'd known exactly how he would answer.

"I know you can't."

Barda moved to dress, tugging on her jumpsuit before Arthur could protest. Her back was to him as she laced up her boots.

"What are we doing, Arthur?" her voice was uncharacteristically quiet. The question perplexed him; had they not already discussed this?

"Explain your meaning," he urged her, resisting the desire to reach out and pull her back into his bed.

"This," Barda gestured to nothing. "We're just.. _fucking_ , aren't we? Not that it isn't spectacular."

"We are." He responded coolly, unsure of where she was steering the conversation. "Is that no longer satisfactory?"

"I--I don't know." Everything was so confusing now. Her head and her heart seemed at odds at every turn whether it was about Shaun, about Arthur---just everything. "We agreed there was nothing more."

"We did," he kept his tone in check, metered and unperturbed even as his heart thundered in his chest. "Do you wish for something more?"

"Yes. Maybe. I don't know," she lay back down beside him on her own accord, only one boot on her feet. "With everything that has happened..." Arthur chose not to draw attention to the tears that slipped down Barda's face. She was the strongest woman he'd ever known and even if she broke down in sobs here and now she would remain as such. Drawing her into a kiss, Arthur took the time to gather his thoughts, compose his words.

"I've hungered for _more_ ," Arthur admitted quietly, for her ears alone. "Ask and you shall have it."

She kissed him again, slipping her tongue along the seam of his steady mouth, and then she was gone from his side. Pulling on her other boot, Barda only looked back once she'd reached the door. He could not discern the mix of emotions in her eyes. That ocean gaze lingered on him for much too short a time before she was shutting his door and leaving him resoundingly alone.


	11. Noble and Naked

He found her the next evening in the mess hall, sitting away from everyone else and drinking more ale than she was picking at her noodle cup. Arthur took a moment to survey her quietly, trying not to make it too obvious. The stern look in his eyes maintained under his dark brow could never betray what he was actually feeling:

Affection.

In truth Arthur had felt it for weeks now, since she'd returned to him from the Institute. He watched as Barda swigged her ale and indulged to recall those lips against his. As if she'd heard his very thoughts, she looked up and finally noticed his presence. With a subtle crook of her finger, Barda beckoned him to join her at the table.

He obliged and sat opposite her, reclining in the chair and resting one arm atop the table.

"Knight Free," he slipped her a rare smile.

"Elder," she hummed into her drink. He could see it in her eyes---something troubled her. Maxson could come to his own conclusions without asking her. Her son, for one. And himself, he thought in his pride.

"Would you take a walk with me? After dinner?" Arthur offered, his expression perfectly controlled and indescribable as if he would be indifferent to either her rejection or acceptance to his proposal. In truth he desperately wanted her to indulge him.

"Of course, Elder," she pushed away her tray. "The noodles are overcooked," Barda wrinkled her nose and rose to her feet. Maxson followed suit and he resisted the desire to take her hand in his as they walked. Instead he resigned himself to chastity and kept his hands linked together at his back. He led her casually through the main deck and up until they were outside on the flight deck. The winds mussed her dark hair and the chill in the air was already reddening Barda's cheeks. Finally the came to the bow and Arthur trusted himself to clutch to the railing as they surveyed the Commonwealth below.

"What do you see?" she tilted her head towards him.

"I see a people in need of saving. Rescue from themselves. I see the children sired and raised in the wasteland being slaughtered without a chance."

When she finally spoke, he hadn't expected the compliment. "You really care about the people, don't you?"

"I'm tempted to take offense that you have questioned it."

"What I mean is," she curled into herself with the cold. "Under all the protocol and rhetoric, you care."

"I do. It is what I was born to do."

Maxson didn't expect her fingers to brush along his jaw, threading through his beard until they came to his chin. Barda tilted him toward her and she pressed her soft lips against his. It was tender and sweet and without expectation, unlike their other kisses that served merely as prelude to passion. Her lips parted in invitation for Arthur to swipe his tongue against her teeth, to mingle with her. Maxson parted from her with an unsteady sigh.  
"My son has to die," Barda admitted solemnly. She had chosen. "I failed him." Arthur could not presume to empathize with her with words nor could he express to her the twisted relief he felt. Instead he pulled her against him in an embrace. It was then he realized how cold she'd grown without a coat such as his around her shoulders.

"The Brotherhood is with you. I am with you, Barda." Arthur promised her.

"I know. Thank you. Saying it--saying it made my decision more real. Final."

He once again chose silence as she pressed her back against his chest. He was solid and steady and everything that she needed.

"As for what we spoke of last night," she sighed herself then. "I don't know what I want. Not yet."

"What about a hot shower and a cup of coffee?" Arthur suggested. He wasn't entirely ready for this conversation yet either.

"Perfect."

The privy wasn't busy this time of evening when those not on patrol were either in the mess hall for dinner or wrapping up their duties. Not a word passed between them as they stepped past the first curtain and shed their clothes. Naked and noble, Arthur slipped by Barda and turned on the water and tested it for appropriate temperature. Satisfied with the heat, he held the curtain back for Barda to step into the stream before him. It wasn't ideal; he mostly received the cool mist that glanced off of Barda's skin.

She had some new scars, still red and rough. Across her stomach the Deathclaw mark was now more white and Arthur found himself reaching around Barda to trace it with his fingers, feeling the harsh line and the strength of the muscles at her core. She remained ever strong. Gooseflesh rippled across her skin at his touch but it remained chaste. The Elder took a bar of soap in hand and went to work washing her back and she returned the favor in kind. He lathered soap into her hair in a moment that was surprisingly intimate as he made certain none came to sting her eyes. Those lovely ocean eyes. As she tilted her head back into the stream of water she exposed the slim pillar of her neck and, God, how he wanted to stake his claim on it. Once the water ran clear, she finally spoke the first words between them since they'd left the flight deck.

"Your turn," she lathered the soap and ran her hands through his hair and gently scrubbed at the roughness of his beard. To be together like this, so innocent, was jarring. It was rawly intimate and unlike anything she had felt in quite some time. Once they were warm and clean and wanting, they dressed.

They took their coffee in Arthur's quarters.

She was laughing about something that had happened the previous week with Valentine in Diamond City, temporarily forgetting about Shaun and the task she would have to complete in the coming days. Arthur even chuckled himself, taken with the smile on her face more than the story.

She could make him forget too.

The weight of leadership, the sword of Damocles, and the pressure to produce an heir to lead the next generation of the Brotherhood of Steel to glory.

Soon their mugs were drained and he'd pulled her atop of him and bestowed languid kisses upon her lips. She burned him and then turned around and served as a balm. Barda could say the same of him.

This time she stayed, not slipping from his bed and returning to the barracks and something like hope bloomed in his soul.


	12. Promises, Promises

"You promised me."

"I can't do that, Knight."

Barda's sharpening of her axe was becoming more and more aggressive as Danse refused her, so much so that a Scribe that was about to approach her with a few papers turned about face and retreated. She was frustrated, yes. They were alone, with Danse performing maintenance on his power armor and she her weapons.

"I don't know what I feel, but it's definitely _something_ and you promised to strike me," she huffed.

"So you and," Danse avoided her insistence and looked around to make sure no one could be listening. Not much stayed secret on the Prydwen. It was an honest surprise that Elder Maxson's dalliances had gone unnoticed for so long. "--It's been going well?"

"As well as it can," Barda shrugged, concealing her smile. "It's like..." she fought for a metaphor. "It's like being home again. And after everything, home is where I'd like to be."

"Being new to the Brotherhood, Knight Free, I'm not sure you realize the extent of what may occur should you continue," Danse heeded and he worked on a particularly problematic spot on the left leg his armor. "He's a very important man. There will be expectations should it ever become public."

"What kind of expectations?" she asked coolly.

"Heirs. His line founded the Brotherhood and he'll--and others--will want to see that line continued."

Barda could not conceal her scowl and she abandoned her axe and strode over the Danse, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Isn't that a bit archaic?"

"I'm sure you've noticed," Danse let out a grunt as he loosened a stubborn bolt. "The world has taken a few centuries worth of steps backwards. Of course that would only be the case were you to pledge yourselves."

"I see," she hummed in dissatisfaction. Danse knew that sound rather well. It wasn't that she objected to the idea outright but the prospect of having a child now with Shaun fresh on her mind, well, it was painful subject to broach. Aside from that how was one supposed to rear a child in this world? Even with someone powerful like Arthur as father it would not be easy and certainly would be unlike everything she'd prepared for when she was first pregnant.

"He's had a few women interested in the past but it wasn't reciprocated."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because," Danse looked up at her. "You're my friend. You've served the Brotherhood well and you've been through more than most. **Will** go through more than most." He paused. "You should be happy."

"Thank you, Danse." When she returned to her station Barda finished polishing her axe and finally strapped it to her back. "I'm glad that our paths crossed."

"As am I, Knight Free."

Barda bid him goodnight, deciding to head for the barracks instead of to Arthur. She had much to dwell upon; what Danse had said and their scheduled return to the Glowing Sea to located and retrieve nukes for Liberty Prime. Sitting upon her cot, Barda removed her boots and stripped down to a tanktop and her underwear, slipping under the rough blankets. Under the covers she found herself tracing the scars along her abdomen, most from battle and others from giving birth.

She thought of Shaun and of Scott. The later she'd not thought of in quite some time. An effort to move on, perhaps. Those old feelings conflicted with what was happening with Arthur. If she allowed herself to love Arthur, was she betraying Scott?

_No. You should be happy, Barda._

She knew exactly what Scott would have said, what he had said before being deployed in case he did not return. The thought, though melancholy in some ways brought her great comfort. Maybe she could let Arthur in. Maybe they could build something for themselves. Quietly she lay realizing that her bed was far less comfortable than Arthur's even though his still wasn't exactly designed to fit two people. She could have gone to him not just for a proper fucking before she departed with Danse to the Glowing Sea but maybe even to talk.

They'd gotten better at talking.

He looked at her with the same eyes Scott had, merely blue like a gas-fed flame rather that the warm brown of Autumn. Barda had noticed it from across the flight deck, in the mess hall, tangled with his legs in bed. Even under the serious facade he meticulously maintained she could see it. Only in private he allowed that face to soften (though barely) and she treasured that.

Slumber was not going take her without a fight. Once or twice she'd considered over and over going to him or returning to the armory to concentrate on something else. The Prydwen was quiet save the gentle idle humming she'd grown accustomed to. In fact, it was difficult to sleep now without it when she was on the ground.

Like so many nights, Barda rose from her cot. She gave in and padded down the main deck until she reached that now familiar door. Opening it, it was clear that Arthur was asleep. The moment the heavy metal shut behind her he jolted, the light from her Pip-Boy illuminating his wide bleary eyes and the laser pistol he leveled at her.

"It's just me, Arthur," she didn't make a move forward until he recognized her and tucked the pistol back under his pillow.

"I'm quite tired this evening," he muttered, punctuated with a yawn. "So if you were looking for company---"

Barda crossed the room, kicked her boots off, and settled herself against him. "I was looking for company. _Just_ company. And yours."

Arthur seemed content with this idea and draped one strong arm across Barda's waist and sighed. She smelled like soap and oil, no doubt from cleaning her weapons earlier. Now that she was in Maxson's bed, well, she'd smell like him too. Mere minutes later he was snoring and Barda shifted against him and rested her head on her arm comfortably. Sleep took her too.

Arthur awoke first. He became gradually aware that someone was sleeping next to him and there was only one person who it could be. In his haze of sleep he brought his lips to Barda's neck to rouse her. He was successful and she stretched languidly against him.

"When do you depart?" Arthur asked, his voice gravelly with sleep.

"0800 hours," Barda took the opportunity to check the time on her Pip-Boy. Six o' clock.

"Avoid the Deathclaw nests this time," he chided, seriousness mingling with a touch of humor. Barda rolled to rest atop him, their chests flush against one another. Her strength always marveled him, how she'd gone from housewife to super mutant slayer. The Barbarian. Maxson traced the powerful planes of Barda's shoulders and sighed.

"You'll come back to me."

"I always do."


	13. To the Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Blind Betrayal! Also, I don't like to go exactly word-for-word in the game but I felt like it was mostly necessary here. Hopefully there's enough to make it different.

"Proctor Quinlan."

"Elder Maxson."

"What of the information Knight Free retrieved from the Institute?" He was gazing out the window of his command deck standing with all the power of one in a suit of armor. Barda had left him three days ago for the Glowing Sea to locate nukes for Liberty Prime and before Proctor Ingram had arrived a report had come to him that they'd succeeded and while Knight Free returned Paladin Danse was staying to oversee transport of the weapons.

"You're not going to like this, Maxson," Quinlan grimaced deeply (more so than usual) as he handed him his report. Scanning the pages in disbelief, Arthur wasn't aware when Quinlan left, when his fists balled together in rage. Had he not been protected by his leather gloves he would have drawn blood from his palms.

Danse? One of those _things_ , those abominations? And even worse, Arthur had trusted him! Trusted him to spearhead the Brotherhood in the Commonwealth, to purge its land of scum. He'd been the one to recommend Barda into their ranks; were they both infiltrators? Had she known all along without telling him? Worse yet, was she trying to deceive him, deceive the Brotherhood? He son was the leader of the Institute, after all.

When he barked the order at a passing Scribe, she dropped her armful of files and trembled in fear. She had never seen the Elder like this! Once she'd scurried away to locate Proctor Ingram, Arthur breathed deeply through his nose. He needed to calm down, to be a proper leader. He would confront Knight Free the moment she returned upon his orders.

It was a long time until she arrived the next morning after reporting to Ingram.

"Is there anything you wish to tell me, Knight?" He spoke in a calm (too calm) and metered tone. Arthur forced himself to stare directly between Barda's eyes instead of the way her mussed braid fell at her shoulder, the smear of blood still on her cheek. She seemed to be taken aback, anger flaring in her eyes.

"Are you accusing me of something?"

"Proctor Quinlan completed the decryption of the data you retrieved from the Institute. A portion of his findings included a list of synths that went missing or escaped from their underground facility. After careful analysis of the information we've discovered something. Something unprecedented," Maxson recited what he'd practiced precisely his tone no longer quite as calm but biting and acidic instead.

"Paladin Danse is a perfect match for one of the synths on that list."

Shock burst onto Barda's face, her lips parting in confusion and unspoken questions.

"That's impossible," she finally said, clearly wrapping her mind around this news. Danse was her friend and he'd kept this from her? Not like Nick who never once tried to hide what he was--Danse had betrayed her. He'd betrayed all of them.

"I'm afraid not. The evidence is quite damning." He explained it, how the DNA records from the Institute matched those they had on file for Danse in the Brotherhood. There was no escaping that kind of proof.

"Even worse, he's gone AWOL. Disappeared without a trace. I find it difficult to believe that he never confided in you and then swore you to secrecy," his last sentence was reminiscent of the jealousy he'd expressed towards her superior officer.

"You have some nerve, Arthur," Barda spat. He bristled at her use of only his first name but she spoke again before he could correct her. "After everything, you think that I would keep something this important from you? He never told me. That's why I never told you." She was pacing now as he'd seen her do before, like a beast in a cage. "Have you considered that Danse himself might not even know?"

Maxson looked taken aback at that, the first time she'd chipped away at his confidence on the matter. "No, I have not...I'm choosing to believe you, Knight. I will take you at your word. However," Maxson stepped closer, keeping his hands firmly folded behind his back for fear he would do something rash in reaction to insubordination. "That does not absolve you of your duty." Barda watched him as he spoke with familiar conviction--that Danse was part of everything that the Brotherhood stood against.

"Which leads me to give the most difficult order I've ever given."

Her heart sank, knowing what was coming.

"I'm ordering you to hunt down Danse and execute him."

Barda looked as though Arthur had slapped her.

"I--there has to be another way," she whispered. She loved Danse. He was her friend and confidant, her mentor. He'd brought her into the Brotherhood, her new home, risking his own credibility by recommending her.

"You will follow my orders. It must be done."

Their eyes met now, steel against a raging ocean. They were both so damn stubborn. Even if she acquiesced now, Arthur could not trust her to carry out his orders. He would make certain of her loyalties himself. This time Maxson reached out, lightly gripping that defiant chin with a gloved hand.

"Understood?"

For a moment she seemed to challenge him if only with just her eyes. Barda could feel the heat rise in her face, flushing her cheeks and ears. He heart thundered in her chest and angry tears burned her eyes. Arthur was really going to make her execute her friend, wasn't he?

"Yes sir," she answered with a hiss.

The situation wasn't made any easier by Haylen's protesting, even though she helped Barda locate Danse. It was a tense Vertibird ride to Listening Post Bravo. She couldn't kill Danse, she just couldn't. He had been too good to her. Making her way through the bunker (after taking out those damn sentries) she found him.

It broke her that she had to convince Danse that he shouldn't die, that he still had worth. Much like hers, his life had been turned upside down only she knew her memories were real. Danse did not have such a luxury.

Much like she'd suspected, Barda couldn't do it.

What she hadn't suspected was for Maxson to be outside waiting for them.

"How dare you betray the Brotherhood?" The words sliced through her like a knife even as Danse came to her defense. "I'll deal with you later." Arthur pointed angrily at the former Paladin.  
"Knight! Why had this...this thing not been destroyed?" He looked at her with such spite that it made Barda question that whatever it was they had must have been an illusion. So she reared up and closed the distance between them, her nostrils flaring and eyes wide in indignation.

"He's still alive because you're wrong about him--"

"Him?" Maxson cut her off. "Danse isn't a man, it's a machine...an automaton created by the Institute. It wasn't born from the womb of a loving mother, it was grown within the cold confines of a laboratory. Flesh is flesh. Machine is machine. The two were never meant to intertwine." Even as he said it his skin crawled at the thought he'd ever considered that Barda would have slept with Danse.

She could hardly stand what she was hearing. Danse was so much more!

"By attempting to play God, the Institute has taken the sanctity of human life and corrupted it beyond measure."

It was Danse who spoke next: "After all I've done for the Brotherhood...all the blood I've spilled in our name, how can you say that about me?"

"You're the physical embodiment of what we hate most. Technology that's gone too far." Maxson answered simply, detached. "Look around you, Danse. Look at the scorched earth and the bones that litter the wasteland. Millions...perhaps even billions, died because science outpaced man's restraint. They called it a 'new frontier' and 'pushing the envelope' completely disregarding the repercussions. Can't you see that the same thing is happening again?"

"That's why we're taking down the Institute and **killing** _my_ son," Barda interrupted him, still burning with spite. "Danse has done nothing but help the Brotherhood in that mission. He wants to save people."

"You're as delusional as you are insubordinate!" Maxon's words were venom. "How can you trust the word of a machine that thinks it's alive? A machine that's had its mind erased, its thoughts programmed...it's very soul manufactured. Those ethics that it's striving to champion aren't even its own. They were artificially inserted in an attempt to have it blend into society."

Danse was speaking for himself now, imploring his feelings. Barda looked at him then, studying the sincerity of the conviction on his features. "Don't you understand? I thought I was human, Arthur. From the moment I was taken in by the Brotherhood, I've done absolutely nothing to betray your trust and I never will."

"It's too late for that now," Maxson declared. "The Institute has foolishly chosen to grant you life. You simply should not exist. I don't intend to debate this any longer; my orders stand."

"It's all right. We did our best," Danse nodded, his voice absent of regret as he gazed at Barda, his friend. "You convinced me that I was wrong to be ashamed of my true identity and I thank you for it. Whatever you decide, know that I'm going to my grace with no anger and no regrets."

"Touching. Either you execute Danse, or I will, Knight. The choice is yours." Maxson wasn't going to back down and that much was clear.

"After all the sacrifices I've made and all the battles I've fought for the Brotherhood---the hell that I have been through," Barda's volume rose. "Telling you that I am willing to kill my Shaun for the sake of the greater good, for the Brotherhood, you need to listen to me Arthur. Whatever was between us, you need to listen. You owe me that much."

"Very well. I'm listening." Maxson's gaze seemed to soften, if only for a fleeting moment.

"Human or not, Arthur, Danse has saved the lives of countless Brotherhood soldiers. Including mine," she gestured across her armor where her Deathclaw scar lay. "Now it's time you saved his. Or you will not only lose the most loyal soldier to ever bless your ranks, but you will lose me. That is a promise."

"You're a stubborn woman." Barda watched as Arthur's lip seemed to twitch with intrigue. "So. It appears we have arrived at an impasse. Allowing Danse to live undermines everything the Brotherhood stands for, yet you insist that he remains alive, which leaves me with only a single alternative."

He turned away from her, focusing on Danse. "As far as I'm concerned, you're dead. You were pursued and slain by this Brotherhood Knight and your remains were incinerated. From this day forward, you are forbidden to set foot on the Prydwen, or speak to anyone from the Brotherhood of Steel. Should you choose to ignore me, know that you'll be fired upon immediately. Do we understand each other?"

Barda's rage ebbed; was Arthur really showing Danse mercy? Danse answered to the affirmative.

"The reason you're still alive is because of her," he looked away from the disgraced soldier and back to Barda. "We're returning the Prydwen. Say your goodbyes and meet me on the Vertibird." Maxson did not wait for a response to turn on his heel and made his way back to the landing pad.

Barda found herself hugging Danse, her strong arms looping around his neck. "You're safe now. He won't chase you anymore."

"That took a lot of guts standing up to Arthur like that. Thank you," Danse wasn't exactly a fan of the physical touch but he accepted her embrace all the same.

"I had to do it. You're my friend, Danse." Barda planted a chaste kiss to his cheek and released him from her grip. "You've been with me through so much. I couldn't let him kill you."  
She gave him one last wave goodbye before boarding the Vertibird, left feeling relieved and yet churning with so many other emotions. Sitting opposite of Arthur, it didn't take long for her to noticed his eyes boring into her.

"Whatever you want to say Arthur, just say it," she stared back, too emotionally drained now to play anymore games.

"If you were any other solider I would strike you."

"I think we both know what would happen if you did," Barda challenged him.

"Instead you'll be granted the title of Paladin. You'll take over that thing's quarters and his personal set of power armor."

"Understood."

She wanted to strike him too. How could he have asked such a thing of her when he knew exactly how it would end? Just as it had with her refusal and, to him, insubordination. Betrayal. The Prydwen was barely becoming visible on the horizon when Barda spoke again.

"Just so you know, Arthur," she gave him a small smile, showing him those lovely white teeth. "It was out of no disrespect that I defied your orders." Despite everything she still felt something for him, whatever that something might be. It would never be said that Arthur Maxson did not stand by his convictions no matter the cost and she had to admire him for that.

"I wish to speak with you privately once we are aboard the Prydwen," was all he could muster in response. They didn't need the pilots to overhear. Barda nodded at him and silence hung between them for the remainder of the flight.


	14. Orders

She surveyed her new quarters. Barda had lived here before during her recovery. Unpacking the few items she had kept in her footlocker in the barracks she finally sat down on the edge of the bed and broke. Doubled over and face buried in her hands, she allowed herself the luxury of tears.

Was she a hypocrite?

Willing to risk so much to protect her friend, a machine made by the enemy and yet having pledged to kill her own flesh and blood both in the name of the greater good? It didn't make any sense. It was too much. And it made her angry. What kind of person had she become? What kind of mother had she become?

When Arthur entered unannounced he was almost on he receiving end of a drinking glass to his face. Instead in shattered against the wall just right of the door. In truth she'd never seem him so startled, steely eyes wide and dark eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I hope that wasn't meant for me," he tsked and closed the door behind him.

"Would you honestly have been that surprised if it was?" Barda matched his frown. "You tried to make me kill my friend."

"I told you before, Barda---" The manner in which he spoke her name threatened to ask for her forgiveness, but his following words were matter-of-fact. "There is the Brotherhood and everything else. Nothing in between. And Danse became everything else the moment we knew."

"I know what you said," she said with jaw set as Arthur took a seat on his own accord. "I come from a very different time, Arthur. I wasn't reared and groomed by the Brotherhood."

"You are held to the same standards as every solider on this ship."

Reaching over from her place on the edge of the mattress, Barda plucked a cigarette from a half-empty pack and lit it, taking a slow thoughtful draw. Arthur watched her, focusing on her hands and the way she moved with such certainty. She looked like she was lost in thought, cigarette burning down a few millimeters before she took another drag. Though their conversation now was far less intense than their previous negotiations at Listening Post Brave tension lingered between them thick as a blanket of fog.

She was quiet for a moment before Barda looked at him thoughtfully. "Did you order me to execute Danse to test my loyalty to you?"

He answered as she expelled a sensuous puff of smoke from her lungs. It swirled around her in tendrils that caressed her pale skin.

"---In a way. Regardless," he admitted. "It had to be done." Maxson looked infuriatingly calm reclining in the chair, resting his boots on the small table in the corner. He hadn't intended it that way, or realized it until Barda had brought it up. He'd been hard on her; maybe he had to be.

"I will be loyal, Arthur, when you don't give _dumbass_ orders," Barda scoffed but her lips were curled upwards in the smallest of smirks. Maxson knew that she was trying to lighten the mood in her own way. Even if her anger had turned cold, she didn't hate Arthur. After all, despite the order, he had spared Danse. "If you don't like my challenging you we can settle it in the ring."

Or in bed.

Their eyes met.

"You should go, Arthur," Barda suggested softly. "I think you can understand that I would not want to sleep with you tonight." He could always count on her for honestly, at least. Clearing his throat, Arthur rose to his feet.

"Take a few days of rest from your duties, Knight."

Once he'd departed Barda lay awake in her new quarters, unable to sleep.

The Prydwen came to life in the morning just as it always had, Knights, Scribes, and initiates all scurrying about their duties. She forced herself to go down to the mess hall and pick up a breakfast tray and coffee. It felt so strange the way no one seemed to be aware (or too fearful to speak) of what happened Paladin Danse. A few soldiers approached Barda to commend her on the promotion so Paladin and she gave them practiced smiles and insincere thanks. She still wasn't entirely sure why Maxson hadn't stripped her title from her and expelled her from the Brotherhood for disobeying him.

No, she _was_ sure.

Barda decided once she'd eaten most of her razor grain porridge to work out her emotions in the only way she knew how: combat. Nothing serious, but she was champion of the ring for as many rounds as she could manage before in need of rest. Chugging down a can of purified water, she watched the next two competitors with an occasional shout of encouragement. She already missed Danse. On any other day he'd be here with her cheering her on and giving the new initiates pointers on the best way to disarm and take down super mutants.

"Ready for a challenge, Barbarian?"

The voice was unfamiliar to her ears and Barda looked up to see a bright young soldier, likely a new addition. Did word of her really travel so quickly? Rising to her feet and rolling her neck to elicit a few satisfying pops, she smiled for the first time that day.

"Give Knight-Captain Cade my regards," she hummed and stepped into the ring with him. He looked cocky, probably just shy twenty years old. Maxson's age but so much less of a man. His swings were powered too much by that ego of his and Barda easily evaded him. This only served to fuel his desperation as a crowd formed around the ring. He couldn't allow a woman, Paladin or not, to best him.

"You're letting your emotions affect you," Barda chided as she landed a punch to the initiate's gut. "You can't win a fight if your mind is divided."

The fact that she was trying to coach him didn't seem to be accepted with any measure of grace. He snarled in outrage and in turn Barda administered a sound fair beating until the initiate was leaning against the ropes and panting in defeat. Endorphins surged through her and Barda was unstoppable.

"You should listen to her, soldier," a Knight clasped the Initiate on the shoulder. "Paladin Free can tear apart a super mutant with her bare hands."

There was the sound of heavy boots on the concrete at the door and soldiers scattered like a flock of nervous birds.

"Back to sending my soldiers to the med bay, Paladin Free?" Maxson's stern features almost betrayed his mild amusement. Almost.

"I could hardly resist the chance to put the man in his place, sir." Barda flashed him her perfect teeth impetuously. "Are you looking for me to do the same for you?"

For a moment Arthur looked as though he was going to scold her. She knew that look all too well by now. Instead, he surprised her.

"Walk with me, Paladin. And you," he pointed at the soldier she'd defeated. "Next time practice on another initiate."

Barda maintained a respectable distance between herself and Arthur as they walked. The Airport was busy, per usual, but blessedly large enough that they were not always in the presence of others. She could not help but wonder what it was that Arthur wanted now; it couldn't be new orders considering he'd given her some leave just last night.

"You will not speak to me like that in front of my soldiers. Understood?" There was the scolding she'd been waiting for.

"Understood, Elder. Just how long were you watching?"

"Enough to know that man will be useless if he cannot take advice or orders from a superior officer."

"It wasn't nearly as exciting as our match," she commented as their pace slowed, stopping in a quiet corridor. "You actually stood a chance." Barda mused.

"As I recall I was victorious."

"You were," she turned and in a moment of lost domesticity, Barda brushed some dirt from the lapel of Maxson's battle coat. There were times he forgot that she was once a wife and not only the Barbarian that she had come to be known as. He could smell her now too, smoke and sweat and sweetness, and feel her light breath on his face. "We should do it again some time."

"Spar, yes." He could not deny that he had enjoyed it; almost as much as he enjoyed having her. "We will all need to be at peak performance in the coming months when we take down the Institute." Arthur reached for her, the ungloved tips of his fingers brushing her face and tracing the scar at her lip. It startled her that he would touch her so soon after such an explosive incident between them only occurring the previous day. Barda's brows drew together more in disapproval than confusion and this expression did not escape Arthur. He withdrew his hand and started to walk with her again towards a less secluded part of the airport to perhaps keep him more restrained.

"I think I'd like to return to my quarters aboard the Prydwen," she finally announced once they were close enough to the landing pad. He let her go without another word.

* * *

He almost regretted giving her Danse's quarters.

Maxson could hear her music.

_Your eyes may behold but the story I'm told is your heart is as black as night_  
_Your lips may be sweet such that I can't compete but your heart is as black as night_  
_I don't know why you came along at such a perfect time_  
_But if I let you hang around I'm bound to lose my mind_

Arthur knew she wanted him to hear it, express what she wouldn't say with someone else's words. It was so much louder now than when he'd heard it through the vents of the ship and each lyric completely comprehensible.

Damn her.

_Cause your hands may be strong but the feeling's all wrong_  
_Your heart is as black as night_  
_Your heart is as black oh your heart is as black as night--_

Suddenly it stopped.

Did she really regard him so harshly? Surely not. He was merely doing what was the best for the Brotherhood of Steel. It was no secret that some viewed him as radical and uncompromising but as far as he was concerned he should be. Every solider under his command should be. Finding solace in three fingers of whiskey, Arthur waited for Barda to resume her music. It never came.

It made her feel guilty, the song. She ejected the holotape and cast it to the floor with a huff. Barda hadn't been thinking about Arthur. She had been thinking about Shaun, imagining and rehearsing over and over in her head what she would tell him. What she should tell him. Maybe she did have a black, black heart. Would anyone blame her what with the hell she'd been through since waking from her century slumber? Probably not. There were far worse people in the Commonwealth. Still. Not many of them committed filicide.

So she filled her mind with other things.

Barda could hear Maxson through the heavy metal walls that divided their quarters. He was likely reviewing reports and brainstorming strategies for their next move. He anger had truly receded by now, replaced with acceptance for their new predicament. She was now Paladin with Knights under her to command. She would see Danse in secret, take him with her on missions the Brotherhood had no hand in. He would find some way to help the world, she knew it.

She could tell he was pacing. Without a shirt on.

Okay, maybe that she couldn't tell but that's how Barda chose to imagine it. Could she let him touch her again? Her body warmed at the thought but she did not spring to her feet and go to his door. Instead she slipped a skilled hand past the waistband of her underwear and lazily pleasured herself at the thought. If she wasn't completely ready for his hands on her, Barda knew damn well how to take of herself. And when she broke with a shudder, it was his name that she cried into her pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make this not feel filler-y but I'm afraid it might come across that way. Comments appreciated. :)


	15. Slow Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time and violence heal all wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo it's been two years. Since I last updated I've graduated with my Master's degree, moved to a new town, and have been working full-time as a children's therapist. Recent unprecedented feedback made me want to return and hopefully be able to finish this thing one day.

How she ended up on the godforsaken rock of Far Harbor, Barda didn't quite know. The entire situation had seemed to snowball and before she knew it, she and Nick Valentine had been back and forth, bouncing between helping the last few humans on the island and unraveling he mysteries of the synth community of Arcadia for weeks. Conveniently, the latter she left out of those periodic reports. She was tempted not to send them at all, but her anxieties had an intrusive tendency when she hesitated to do so. Maybe Barda wanted to be a good soldier. Maybe she didn't want him to worry. Between the three factions the easiest to paint the villain were the Children of Atom, an easy sell for an organization that also demanded complete dedication (though perhaps not as blind).

Then again, she had become biased.

The fog was eerie. Despite the proper warning from the citizens of Far Harbor Barda had charged ahead to find new monstrosities to tear apart. The more disturbing thing she found was at Arcadian; her experiences there generated hesitation and the question that seemed to haunt her.

Was she a hypocrite?

Synths. Nick. Danse. DiMA. Two friends (no, more than that. Confidants.) Then one so impenetrably philosophical (who knew machines could have such a quality?) that Barda found herself questioning everything. Well, not everything. But certainly enough to keep her up at night. Belonging to the Brotherhood meant she was to despise Synths---she never allowed Nick to come with her aboard to Prydwen---and yet she was not only helping Arcadia, but trusting her life to them. At the same time, she plotted to annihilate the mutually loathed Institute alongside the Brotherhood. Unable to reconcile her own allegiances, Barda spent less time thinking and more time fighting. Raiders, Super Mutants, Children. It didn't matter. Time slipped away.

 

"You okay, kid?" Nick's voice brought her back from her thousand-yard stare into the dancing flames of their campfire. "You were spacin' out there."

A pause.

"No." Her admission is brief. The detective knew to wait, those luminous yellow eyes somehow able to convey genuine concern. Barda ran a hand through her hair; it was tangled and greasy and hell, she needed a shower. "I don't know what to do anymore, Nick." The sigh was heavy and offered her no reprieve. "I don't know what I believe anymore about anything. I don't know what I want."

That wasn't true She knew what she wanted. Barda wanted her baby, her Shaun. Not Father, not a child-synth made to look like him. She wanted an unattainable future and killing that desire was something she didn't quite know how to do.

"It has to be hard figuring that out when your whole world has changed." Nick had a real way of cutting o the chase. "And I know things got even harder since you found your kid." That was putting it mildly. Finding Shaun had been her only purpose since awakening; now she was like an unmoored skiff, drifting in an endless and angry sea.

"Do you think if I smash enough skills I'll be able to figure it out?" She began to braid her hair to keep her hands occupied, her axe having already been cleaned and sharpened. The synth let out a chuckle and shook his head in response. By now he knew that if Barda had her mind made up to do something she was going to do it whether it was the right thing or not.

"That's worked so far, hasn't it?"

"Why fix something that isn't broken?" Barda laughed too, then paused. "I think it's time to head back to Sanctuary. I need to show my face before people start to worry too much."

People like Arthur.

* * *

 

For a man with all of his measured patience, it had been too long for Arthur Maxson. The sporadic and impersonal reports that arrived weeks after the events described occurred were vexing. He didn't know if Paladin Free and her companion were dead or alive at this very moment and the dread was beginning to make acid churn in his stomach. Not only that but the Brotherhood was almost ready to destroy the Institute and without the woman who set the entire plan into motion, his hands were ultimately tied. 

And God, he missed her.

It had taken this long for him to admit it to himself, even when her memory seemed to intrude on every thought, every decision made. Her too-white teeth bared in a smile, the strength of her hands, the curve of her waist. Arthur shifted in his bed to stare into the darkness above, the only light being the dull green glove from his monitor across the room. For a moment he imagines her over him, hair a black curtain about her shoulders and ocean eyes seeming to read his every thought. She might would blush if she read them now. The Elder has enough restraint (thin though it may be) to not indulge his flesh. He needed to focus on the Brotherhood, on cleansing the Commonwealth and being the steady hand to usher in a brighter future for their hellscape of a world.

A brighter future for her, perhaps.

 


	16. We Sink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh.

Returning to Sanctuary always seemed to evoke a myriad of emotions, most of which were conflicting. It was still very much home in a way but considering the dilapidated state of the suburban neighborhood, really it should depress Barda more than it did. Even worse, she'd chosen to clean out her old house for her use. It was a decision that, at the time, had made sense to cling to the familiar no matter how much of a shadow it had become. The Barbarian strode over the threshold and deposited her weapon and pack onto the time-worn red couch with a sigh. It wasn't exactly quiet here, what with settlers milling about tending to the garden across the street and the sound of generators buzzing away to provide power to their small community. At least, for the most part, they knew better than to impose themselves on her in her home (though no one really owned houses anymore). In truth she was proud to have brought together these people all seeking to live a better life than roaming the wasteland of the Commonwealth in fear.

After enlisting Codsworth to bring her a bucket of water, she peeled away her armor and vault suit and padded into what was formerly a very nice, modern bathroom. Now she was resigned to bathe with a cloth and irradiated water and Barda chided herself for deciding against returning to the Prydwen for a proper shower. She started with her aching feet and worked up her bruised calves to shapely thighs and hips. The scar from the Deathclaw encounter is ugly, purpled and uneven. It was only when she bathed that the abuse she has subjected herself to, that this new world has caused, becomes more clear. Catching a glimpse of her naked form in the shards of a floor-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door was jarring. Bruises and scrapes covered her from head to toe, though some she found to be dirt and grime from weeks away. The small lump of soap she clung to and the lack of running water was barely enough to make her feel truly civilized again, but at least she was (mostly) clean. The green cotton dress Barda donned made her uncomfortable. It wasn't safe, it wasn't **her**. But it was better than nothing and she was going to have to make sure her suit and armor were washed in the morning or, at the very least, aired out.

The sun had sunk low to the west and briefly illuminated the house in an eerie crimson-orange glow before disappearing on the horizon and giving way to the dully lit bulbs strung throughout the house and around the community. Pouring herself a drink, Barda was just about to settle onto the couch when there was a sharp knock at her door. A curse was muttered before she redirects herself to answer, preparing it to be one of the settlers in need of supplies or with a question that could absolutely wait until morning.

It was not a settler.

The Barbarian's heart caught in her throat at the sight of him.

How had she not heard his Vertibird?

"Arthur," she greeted dumbly, brows raised and lips parted in surprise. Evidently he was equally startled almost as if he himself were surprised by his being there.

"Paladin Free," he managed. How she managed to make him feel so small was a mystery but here he stood like an idiot with mouth agape! "I apologize for not sending you a messenger to announce my visit. You mentioned in your last report that you intended to be here by tomorrow's date---"

"---Aren't you early then?" Barda interrupted.

"I wanted to make certain that you returned from Far Harbor without incident. You are a valued asset to the Brotherhood." It could have been the poor light but she could have sworn that just beyond that rugged beard of his cheeks were flushed. She offered him a small smile and took a step back to invite him inside with a gesture.

"Come inside?"

Arthur bowed his head and entered without further answer as he surveyed what once must have been a lovely home. Having been born after the bombs fell he could only imagine what it must have been like with what he knew from old photos and documents. The mismatched furniture and boarded up holes in the sheet-rock didn't hold his attention long: instead his eyes drifted to the woman who had been present only in his dreams for the past many weeks. Her dress was pretty, but it didn't seem to suit her. Barda kept tugging at it as though she were completely out of her element. He pictured what she must have looked like as a housewife here with her family. Making coffee in the kitchen, feeding her baby, kissing her husband on the cheek when he'd fallen asleep watching television.

Suddenly he felt like an intruder. 

"I was just about to sit down and have a drink. You want one?"

"Yes, I think I would," Maxson answered before taking the liberty to seat himself on one end of the couch, opposite her deposited armor. "I trust your time in Far Harbor was productive."

"That is a word for it," Barda conceded, handing him a glass of liquor and then taking a seat next to him. "If it's all the same to you, though, I'd rather just put it all in my final report." She took a swig from her own glass, the burn lingering in her throat. "We both know that's not why you came here either. Right?"

She watched as Arthur drained his glass and cleared his throat. He doesn't actually look at her until he replied:

"If I admit that I...that I missed you, would that be acceptable?" 

Barda leaned forward to rest her drink on a moderately lopsided coffee table. "I missed you too, Arthur."

Silence fell between them.

And words, she decided, could wait. Barda slipped into his lap, straddling him securely and cupping his face in her hands. Ocean met steel. His jaw was set, his hands unsure what to do.

"I missed you so much," Barda continued, unblinking. "That it kind of pisses me off."

She was't _supposed_ to forgive him, wasn't _supposed_ to get past his ridiculous orders and apparent god-complex. She wasn't _supposed_ to **love** him. And yet her lips were pressing against his in the best kind of punctuation. It was clear that Arthur didn't quite know what to say to that because he looked so bewildered that Barda had to kiss him again. And again.

And more still.

Somewhere between the couch and the bedroom, her dress found new residence on the floor. Further down the hallway Maxson's battlecoat and flight suit met the same fate. Barda's hands found purchase on the rusted iron frame of the bed, Arthur's name a plea spoken between curses. The bed made a terrible grating sound in time with each thrust, so he focused on her voice and the way her skin flushed and how her eyes screwed shut as she broke. Arthur broke too, clinging to her with a shudder. It wasn't gentle, it wasn't long. It was, however, needed. He dropped to her side, panting. She was looking up at the ceiling, lost in thought, until his calloused hand drifted to her.

"I thought it would hurt more, being with someone else here," she admitted. "The fact that it doesn't at all, that being with you feels completely right?" Finally she looked at him. "I don't know whether I should feel guilty or just accept it."

Maxson frowned; feelings never had been a topic that he enjoyed discussing. He can't presume to tell her how she should feel having just bedded him where she did so with her husband. Where she conceived a child. Instead his mouth opened to express the murmurs of his own heart:

"I'm in love with you, Barda."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in two days? Oh shhhhhhhhhhhhhhieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet.


	17. Make Them Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An admission.

_One. Two. Three._

The longer the silence settled between them the louder Arthur's pulse thundered in his ears. There was an immense boulder crushing his chest and he pleaded with a look for Barda to speak lest she snuff out the ember of hope with her heel.

_Four. Five. Six._

Then there was panic and Maxson started to rise, unable to bear being in this bed one moment longer without an answer. He cleared his throat gruffly and spoke: 

"Clearly I have made a mistake," he muttered and was just about leave. Yes, leave and march right back to the Vertibird and never speak of this again. And then strong arms wrapped around his middle in a silent request to stay. Arthur stiffened and his breath caught in his throat.

_Seven. Eight. Nine._

"How?"

Her voice was uncharacteristically small and Barda curled against his back. She doesn't cry, though part of her wanted to.

"How can you possibly be in love with me?"

He remembered their conversation months ago in his quarters when he'd told her that he had entertained being more, that all she had to do was ask. Then Barda hadn't known what she wanted; did she still not when there was no question in his mind? Arthur **loved** her and for everything she was! Her wild blue eyes, her passion for her family now lost to her, the way she fearlessly charged into battle. Even down to the way she could set her jaw in defiance and tell him off for orders that didn't make sense but managed to maintain respect for his position as Elder. 

"How..." He shifted, incredulous. "How could I not be?" From the moment she'd stepped foot on the Prydwen, this magnificent housewife had commanded his attention. Arthur had watched her grow into her role in the Brotherhood, come face-to-face with immense challenges, and confront the most horrific loss of her lifetime---how could his affection for her not bloomed?

Arthur felt her chin rest against his shoulder, the sharp exhale of her breath against his ear.

_Ten. Eleven. Twelve._

"I love you too, Arthur."

Barda had known it for a while, but her heart and her mind had been unable to reconcile. Accepting the death of her husband, accepting the metaphorical death of her baby (and that she would soon have a hand in his literal death as well), the Brotherhood's severing with Danse---it had all been too much. Between helping settlers and trekking back and forth from one end of the Commonwealth to the other, fighting at every possible chance to release her rage and mend her sorrow, she had known. She felt Arthur's muscles instantly relax as he finally breathed again. Barda coaxed him to face her with a firm but gentle hand, beckoning him to stay. Yes, stay and never leave her side.

This time it was gentle, affectionate. They were lingering kisses and tender hands. She rolled her hip against his and breathed curses and please. Arthur was more than willing, no, desperate to give Barda all of himself and nothing less. Their world was reduced to this room where ghosts were finally laid to rest. As Barda clung to his shoulders and sighed his name, she knew that she could let go. Arthur felt that his hands could not touch enough of her at once and somehow he was discovering all of this woman for the first time. He memorized her form, the way her eyes fluttered shut, the dull yellow light casting feathered shadows on her cheeks. Yes, he had to burn this image of her in his mind so that no matter what happened come morning he could have this moment on which he could draw hope for something more in the wasteland. They would take the best parts of themselves and make them gold.

They weren't perfect.

It was not going to be simple.

But, yes. She loved him and he, her.

* * *

 

Morning broke far too soon.

Sunlight poured through the gaps in her makeshift repairs to the walls and roused them, she before Arthur. Barda stretches not unlike a feline as she curls into her pillow (she'd taken pre-bomb pillows for granted!) The settlement in Sanctuary had already begun to stir; she heard distant conversations and the usual sounds of people tending to gardens, a turret firing a few rounds at a rad-roach or two. Today she had been set to arrive and was to report to the Prydwen two days later which blessedly afforded her some much needed rest. If she were fortunate enough perhaps Arthur would be able to spend some of that time with her. Getting to show him not only where she had lived and how she had worked to create a community anew spurred feelings of pride in her. She rolled to press against Maxson's back as her skilled hands slipped around his middle. It didn't take much longer for him to stir with a sleep-laden groan as he gathered his bearings in a strange bed.

"Morning," the Barbarian murmured against his neck.

"Yes," came a raspy answer. "Morning." All Arthur could think about was how nice it was to not only awaken to a lovely woman in his bed, but in a bed that was actually designed to sleep two adults rather than the bed in his quarters! This luxury made him rather reluctant to rise which was most unusual for him. To be fair, Arthur had everything he desired in this very moment save perhaps a cup of black coffee.

"Will you be able to stay?" Barda asked after he'd shifted to lie on his back and she began to trace abstract shapes on his chest. She knew all too well that duty would always take precedence for him, but if she could steal him away for herself even for a few hours she could be content.

"Perhaps." He still sounded half-awake. "I cannot recall any pressing matters on the itinerary."

"Good," she purred, brushed her lips against his cheek before slipping away to rise and start to dress. He watched her with an appreciative eye; such a magnificent woman! The words exchanged last night came flooding back to him and he found himself utterly astonished that Barda had reciprocated his affections. What their future held remained to be seen, of course, but here in this moment, the Elder felt utterly satisfied in a way that he could not quite remember having felt before.

"Come," she extended a hand to coax him from her bed. "Let me show you my world."


End file.
